4 month sleep regression...

...or beginning stages of teething or whatever the fuck this plague is

SUUUUUUCKS.

Of course she's been a pretty easy baby in this regard up until now, so Mon Amour and I haven't really had a sustained bout of sleepless nights since she was born. The occasional one off yes, but we are discovering the true meaning of sleep deprivation now.

Also she refuses to sleep until she's had a proper poo. If she's overtired yet won't go down for a nap, I can count on a poo explosion to happen within the (extremely fussy) hour. And with a full diaper she's happy to roll off to dreamland...

Go figure.

Mommy Merit Badges I Could Do Without

Breastfeeding while sick with stomach flu: I haven't felt that dehydrated since having a fever while in labor.

And though we thought Peanut had benefitted from maternal antibodies via boob, this morning has been our introduction to Infant Projectile Vomiting 101. It's not the vomit that kills me - by now I'm pretty well immune to baby bodily effluvium - but feeling her tiny little body seize up in spasm makes me burst out in tears.

Gah.

Knocked Up: *sniffle*

Getting a cold in your ninth month sucks major donkey balls. You can't take any over the counter stuff for the most part and just have to wait it out. And every time you cough, pray to god that you don't pee yourself a little.

I miss having completely autonomous bladder control...

Knocked Up: 9th Month Bookend Deja Vu

Bookend deja vu in the sense that I'm having first trimester medical establishment woes flashbacks. Went to see a private gyno at the SSN-associated clinic where we are planning to give birth. She gave us a long list of tests to get done, which, like the first trimester tests prescribed by Dr. Dippy, required me to get the prescriptions from my GP.

Only problem is, when I went to my GP's office, I discovered she had passed away due to breast cancer.

Well, no let me amend that. I discovered later on from my former flatmates that she had passed away. At the time, the dentist with whom she had shared a studio gave the obviously enormously pregnant lady standing in front of him absolutely no fucking information whatsoever, aside from "Non c'è più. Devi cambiare dottore al ASL."

As she wasn't a spring chicken and had been ill with something unspecified earlier in the year, with other doctors filling in for her at the time, I though maybe she had retired and translated this as "She's not here anymore.You have to change doctors at the ASL." To say I was nonplussed when the dentist slammed the door in my face upon his pronouncement would be an understatement. Dude, you wanna be a bit more helpful to the chick who looks like her amniotic fluid could break on your doorstep, please?

I did feel properly guilty when I discovered the particulars, but can we just admit I have some spectacularly bad juju going with the SSN for some reason? Eesh...

Frustrated Velociraptor Hates Shoddy Construction Work

Just had the shower curtain holder spontaneously decide to divorce itself from the wall as I was getting out of the shower. Luckily it only glanced off my shoulder.

In assessing the damage, I note that the holes drilled into the wall are rather large for the screws and stops used, and said screws and stop sure as hell weren't sufficently large or long enough.

I am an architect's daughter, people. A pregnant architect's daughter who, to make a major understatement, is non-plussed about narrowly missing a concussion, having to clean this shit up, retake my shower to get the plaster dust off, and then organize a repairman via the landlord.

GRAR

You men are total babies...

...when you're sick or in pain. There must be some evolutionary reason which you all turn into little children with a minor fever or an infected hangnail, but damn if I can figure out what it is. Every female friend of mine nods her head and rolls her eyes in agreement when ever the subject comes up.

Maybe it's because we get cramps once a month or experience childbirth or I don't know, removed our own appendix with a pocketknife and a bottle of vodka, but we all pretty much agree that while you're sort of cute when you get all whiny puppy dog on us, we still snicker over what total wussies you are when it comes to physical discomfort.

Remember that the next time you hear me scream about a spider in the bathroom, mmmmm'kay?

Mon Amour spent 4 days replacing parts on his motorcycle, squatting and crouching round it in ways that would make my ex-ballet dancer knees wince in phantom sympathy pain. He claims that it doesn't bother his knees, but then again, he also sits like this

And in finding that illustrative photo, I discover that it's termed "W-sitting" and that it's baaaaaaaad. And that Internet Rule 34 is in full effect as there seems to be at least one blog fetishizing chicks sitting like that. Gotta go scrub the ick off my skin....

(I also know when Mon Amour is super exhausted as he'll wind up sleeping in a W-sitting, face plant into pillow, ass in the air position, like so

At least one of his friends has a blackmail photo of this from a trip they took together...Anywho enough cute babies illustrating positions that make my joints wince...)

Watch your users run screaming from your site.

I have a client who has suddenly become a web expert and whose latest request is to add three (THREE!!!) pop-up windows to highlight special deals.

Never mind that even motherfucking Internet Explorer now ships with its pop-up blocker enabled.

Never mind that mobile devices by and by large don't even support pop-up windows.

Never mind that it's a now well known given that pop-up windows annoy the fuck out of your users and the vast majority will only click on them to close them.

Never mind that I have shown you the most clicked on areas of your homepage and they certainly weren't the shit-ass in-house graphics (that I've had to correct your English on) you have sent to me to be placed where you designate on the page, in spite of my advice on the subject.

To hell with accessibility. Actually I don't even think they know or care what that means or why it's important, despite my attempts to explain.

What the fuck rock have you been living under that you've suddenly decided to ignore (again) my advice about how to increase your slumping online sales with a more user friendly, cleaner redesign and instead slap one of the most annoying, proven-to-drive-away-potential-clients-in-droves advertising tactics held over from the early Noughties?!

I could even get around this shit request by sticking it in a modal dialog if it was just one pop-up. But THREE?!?!?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!

That rhythmic sound you hear is my head repeatedly smack my desk...

And the house of cards comes tumbling down...Pt. II

Continued from Part 1
........................
Flashback to a few weeks prior, when we had gone to his parents' house for Sunday lunch, the first time I was to meet his mother, father and grandfather. In the days preceding, he explained that we couldn't just drop in because his mother "wasn't much of a housekeeper." He also warned me not to give her my cell phone number lest she start calling me all the time and ditto for friending on Facebook. The words "intrusive" and "slightly crazy" might have also been used, or at least heavily implied.

That Sunday also marked the first time I got irritated with him, as he had said he'd call me to let me know when he would pick me up. I was finishing up a cake to bring when he called me and said he'd be there in 15 minutes. While not aimed directly at him but more in his general direction, my semi-expletive laden response and frentic running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get dressed amused him to no end, but to his credit he apologized profusely and made a major effort to calm me down.

What I saw of the house was a little cluttered but nothing out of the range of normal. The lunch wasn't as awkward as I anticipated, mainly because his mother never stopped talking and thus I didn't have to worry about my socially awkward habit of silence when I get nervous really being noticed. He father spoke little and his grandfather a bit more, showing me a photo of his wife when she worked on the American military base in Napoli.

And after when we got back to my place, the clothes went flying and he slammed me against the wall as soon as the apartment door shut. Thank jeebus my flatmates were at the beach. Moment noted for posterity when I am old and senile, because fuck that was hot.
........................

And the house of cards comes tumbling down...Pt. I

After a rather late night out Saturday, I awoke Sunday morning around 7am to Ma Liason frenetically pulling on clothes.

“There's missed calls and messages from my brother that they've taken my grandfather to the hospital.”

He calls his brother to get details and I hear his brother through the iPhone speaker tell him that their grandfather didn't make it.

His wail is heartwrenching. “What do you mean he didn't make it?” I hug him tightly as he cries, rubbing his back in circles, disjointedly remembering that my mom would do the same when I was a child.

He abruptly continues getting dressed, “I have to go there.” I attempt to cajole him into slowing down, beg even. Just give yourself 15 minutes, I say. I'll make you coffee, you just woke up, you shouldn't be driving on the motorcycle right this immediate instant when you've had such a huge shock.

He acquiesces to the coffee, abruptly sits down on my couch like his legs gave out and begins to sob. Huge body racking, air gulping sobs ripped from his soul. I bend over him and hug him and rub his back again.

When he stops, he grabs his helmet, refuses to wait for me to make him some coffee. I trail him to the door, where I grab his chin and look at him. His eyes bright blue and bloodshoot, all puffy and slitty from too little sleep and too much shock; he refuses to meet mine. “Text me when you get there.”

He doesn't. I gnaw at a ragged cuticle, try to distract myself with reading a book, of which I read a sentence and immediately go back to the beginning of it, like a record skipping, because I've totally forgotten what I just read.