Breakfast

Me: What would you like for breakfast?

Aiman: Jellybeans!

Me: Uh, no. How about (insert decent breakfast food here)?

Aiman: Oh, no thank you.

Me: Okay, what do you want then?

Aiman: I’ll take cereal.

Me: Fine.

Lunch

Me: Buddy, lunch is ready.

Aiman: No, I don’t like (insert something he does like and has always eaten before)

Me: But!

Aiman: I DON’T LIKE IT.

Me: So what do you want to eat?

Aiman: Uh…BOSS! (which is what he used to and still occasionally calls pasta. Don’t ask.)

Me: Ugh, okay. *makes “boss” and hands him plate*

Aiman: AHHH!!

Me: What is it??

Aiman: I don’t want macaroni, I like penne rigate, please.

Me: *twitch, twitch, twitch* Aiman, I don’t have penne rigate, but you can have either macaroni or the lunch everyone else is having.

Aiman: *breakdown*

Me: *ignore breakdown*

Aiman: Mama, please I will eat cereal.

Me: *figures better cereal than nothing at all*

Dinner

Me: Okay, Aiman, child of mine, my dear first-born, what in God’s name will you eat for dinner?

Aiman: Uh, cookies?

Me: *ignore suggestion and repeat question”

Aiman: Cereal!

Me: No way! You had cereal for breakfast and lunch; you need real food! Eat some real food! If I make (insert real food here), will you eat some of it?

Aiman: No thank you.

Me: So what do you want to eat?

Aiman: Cereal!

Me: Forget it. We’re having (insert his favorite dish) and I just know you’ll love it, won’t you dear child?

Aiman: …..Cereal!

Me:*hands him dish he always ate before or something he’d most likely try based on previous foods he used to eat*

Aiman: Oh. Oh, no thank you mom. I’m full.

Me: ….

Aiman: Mama, can I have some juice?

Me: You know you can only have juice after you have your meal.

Aiman: Okay, can I have cereal then?

Me: That’s not a meal baby boy, eat (real food).

Aiman: *breakdown*

Me: *ignore breakdown*

Aiman: Mama, I’m want some juice and yogurt.

Me: Aiman, it’s time for dinner. Eating yogurt will make you hungry in the middle of the night. Come with me to the kitchen and show me what you’ll eat”

Aiman: *straight to cereal nook*

Me: *scream EXCEPT THE DAMN CEREAL in my head*

Me: No, Aiman, pick something else.

Aiman: *breakdown*

Me: *bargain, bet, play with, beg, force, bribe child to EAT SOMETHING*

Aiman: *refuses to let up*

Me: Whatever. I’d rather you eat cereal before bed then go to sleep hungry.

3AM

Aiman: Mama, my tummy hurts.

Me: *mid sleep gurgle*

Aiman: Mama, my tummy is hurting.

Me: Do you feel sick or hungry?

Aiman: I’m hungry.

Me: *midnight lecture on importance of eating real food, nutrition, balanced diet, good for us! blah blah blah*

Aiman: Mommy, can I have cereal?

Me: *head explodes*

______________

My once champion eater has become the Pickiest Child in the Cosmos and it pretty much sucks donkey butt (or ass squared, bwhahaaha).

I know it’s a phase and one that my mom informs me I went through as well, so that’s partially reassuring. I mean, eating cereal 24/7 won’t hurt anyone, right? He fills up on fruits, certain veggies, yogurt (so much yogurt), etc. in between meals, but it’s getting him to eat non-cereal for a meal that’s challenging.

Even as I wrap up this post, he just slurped up his last drop of milk from his cereal– that he had for lunch.

A few nights ago, he flipped out at the sight of parsley specks in his lasagna –the same lasagna he’s always had and with the same parsley specks, mind you. Do you know how impossible it is to try to scrap off specks of parsley? Do you know how impossible it is to predict what will offset flipping out? It’s like I need permission for every single ingredient!

But that’s all.

I just want everyone to know that I live with a tyrant.

via starryeyekid

Today has been a humbling day. Within the span of about 24 hours, there’s been news of everything from separation, divorce, recurring illness, and death from friends both online and off.

When there’s a tornado of heartache swirling around people you care about, you want to break through the shatterproof glass and take them to safety, but the thing about shatterproof glass is that it’s shatterproof. So all you can do is help them weather the storm and pray it doesn’t rip them apart and spit them out.

I have tons of pictures of all the fun we’ve been having lately, but the post I intended to have up doesn’t seem right for today.

So instead I’d just like to remind everyone to stay safe, work it out, and hug your loved ones.

Everything is temporary.

Some of the things I miss about undergrad:

Waking up and getting dressed for a day outside of the house. This means that I had an excuse to buy new clothes.

Putting my driving skills to test by getting through horrendous traffic, parking,and sprinting (figuratively, of course!) to class to make it there at least 20 min. before class (read next point/”memory”).

Finding the perfect position/seat in class. Although there aren’t assigned seats, once I find my spot I don’t exchange the seat with anyone for anything. And if someone is in my seat by the time I get there (which is why I try to get to class super early), then I stare at the back of their head and laser beam mean, angry thoughts at them.

How acceptable it was to stalk prey in the parking lot. This means that it was perfectly normal to cruise the campus parking lot(s) until you find someone (prey) walking to their car and then slowly trailing (stalking) them to their vehicle for their spot. For some reason, this never worked non-campus lots.

What was that? You didn’t stalk prey? Are you telling me it’s creepy?

Whipping out my notebook and pen/pencil, the only two things on my desk –nothing more, nothing less. Highlighters, sticky notes, erasers, flashcards —NOTHING ELSE, I SAID.

Cracking open my notebook and gently caressing the clean new page before I tattoo it in notes.

Listening with genuine interest to the lecture; sort of listening for leisure, but noting for knowledge. I think the only classes I involuntarily zoned out in were Calculus II and III because they were Calculus II and III. Nearly four years later, I am still traumatized from these two classes. From the times I was paying attention/awake, at least.

My hidden study spots in the library and other buildings.

Stopping by the campus Einsteins or Starbucks to grab coffee and a snack before going to study.

Sitting in front of the water garden or under the shade of magnificent trees.

Dodging bike riders. And scooter riders. And roller bladders. And golf-cart drivers. And unicyclists. We were a transportation-diverse campus, obviously.

Seeing the campus swarm with students in between classes sections.

As stressful finals time can be, I love the atmosphere. Looking like the living dead with coffee in one hand and clenching last-minute notes in the other. More than anything though, it’s the high of completing an exam and walking out of the room momentarily burden free until the next final.

Running into old classmates/friends and professors. And sometimes avoiding them.

Being with my boys (Saad and Aiman) at the end of the day.

The smell of angst that filled the waiting room at the pre-med advisor’s office. Sadly, there was no antiperspirants for this.

Making difficult decisions:

I didn't make this; it's a meme floating around the internet.

Except this illustration should include mother/wife duties for my experience, but let’s not get technical (although we should definitely get technical about that major detail).

***

College flew by, as did the last 24 years of my life. I’m beyond ready for the next phase of school and look forward to increased coffee consumption, protectiveness of my seat, burden-free highs, and general anxiety in medical school.

OH, MEDICAL SCHOOL.

Are my angst-stained armpits showing?

11-year-old sister: OH MY GOSH! I need to tell you something!

Me: Okay.

11 yo sister: Okay, I was walking home and I saw the two dogs from a few weeks ago (she saw this dog duo that occasionally makes their way through the neighborhood– a small chihuahua and a bigger “really puffy” one, in her words) on the other side of the street.

She’s afraid of dogs and so I thought this story was going to be hilarious. One skinny, awkward preteen against a chihuahua and “really puffy” dog.

Me: Did they chase you?

11yo sister: No.

Me: Oh, well that’s good. Because you shouldn’t —

11yo sister: I know this is inappropriate, but they were doing something.

Me: What? What are you talking about?

11yo sister: I didn’t mean to look, but it just happened!

Me: What are you talking about?

11yo sister: *deep breath in* I saw them across the street. One second they were just standing there, but then they started…*turns away from Aiman and in a low whisper* MATING.

Me:…

This wasn’t so bad. What followed next? That sort of crossed the line.

11yo sister: The chihuahua leaped on top of the puffy one’s back while it was sitting down and started MATING IT.

Me: Boo, it’s okay, it’s called –

11yo sister: THEN! The puffy one got up while the chihuahua was still on it’s back, but now the chihuahua was dangling off the puffy one’s butt *suddenly stopped*

Me: Still mating it?

11yo sister: *nods head, silence* WHILE IN THE AIR.

Me: Oh snap, that IS inappropriate.

I don't think the puffy dog wanted ANY of this.

Do you find that you’re too graceful? That you can walk and chew your gum at the same time and look fabulous while doing it?

Being perfect is such a bore, isn’t it?

Well, have I got good news for you!  Below is instructional wisdom on how to be fabulously uncouth.

This guide, studied and tested by the clumsiest and most awkward scientist in the world, is here to help you disgrace yourself and fall into imprefection. Who wants poised and functional when you can have blundering and hazardous?

Involved parties:

• Mother, awaiting post bedtime freedom
• Two young children, 3 years old and 7 months old

Supplies:

• Sharp, loud child’s toy
• Dark, floor-boards-need-oiling children’s room

Instructions:

1. Begin bedtime routine with children, not forgetting to repeatedly wrangle 3 year old up the stairs and into the tub while 7 month old helplessly dangles along.
2. Complete bath and story.
3. Now, the hardest part: getting children to doze off and sleep.
   • 3 year old, accustomed to routine, settles in and goes to sleep
   • 7 month old, not as accustomed and in a distracted phase, finds smallest, most random thing in room (ie. small speck in the middle of the wall) extraordinarily exciting and fixates upon it. Seven month old fights sleep, delaying mother’s freedom other chores.
4. After much nursing, swaying, willing child to focus on sleeping, child finally (FINALLY) sleeps.
5. Mother, assess your environment and calculate every movement between your position in the room and the infant’s bed.
6. Mother, use your ninja skills (acquired via older child’s sleep sensitivities when he was an infant) to move stealthly through room.
7. Mother, gently settle infant into bed and calculate plan to exit room.
8. Mother, before leaving, look at both children and smile warmly. The think about all that sweet precious independence that awaits you downstairs and smile even harder.
9. Mother, gently turn while smiling, to get out of room.
10. Mother, begin creeping towards door –RAAAAWWWR! You just stepped on 3 year old’s very pointy and stupidly loud, flashy dinosaur toy he snuck into room.
    • Duck and clasp dinosaur toy, trying to muffle the noise.
    • Lick the wound of your injured foot (not really, but you know).
    • Stand to check on children.
    • Lean forward to check if infant’s eye’s are open (for whatever reason).
    • While leaning forward, press on injured foot, underestimate the pain AND FALL.
    • Try to salvage fall by grabbing rail, only to miss it completely.
    • Instead of grabbing rail, tangle yourself in random lamp cord and take the lamp down with you
    • Crash of lamp and few knick knacks falling off stand
    • Involuntarily make ugly noise while falling.
    • Land on stupid dinosaur again —RAAAAWWWR!
    • Try to muffle stupid dinosaur again.
    • Sit in silence…3,2,1
    • Infant crying
    • 3 year old awake, asking “Mom? Mom? What happened? YOU’RE PLAYING WITH MY DINOSAUR??”
11. Mother, momentarily sit there and hate yourself.
12. Mother, calm children down.
13. Re-sway, re-bounce, re-hum to get infant to sleep again as extra punishment.
14. When children are back to sleep, Mother, do not smile and sure as hell do not think about anything but army crawling out of room because you can’t step on a stupid flashy, loud dinosaur when you’re army crawling, now can you?

And there you have it –it really IS that simple.

*Sound effects not included unless personally projected.

**Dignity not a part of this package.

Happy Self-Disgracing!

CAN YOU HEAR ME  ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

As I clean off the cobwebs and dust all over this blog, I notice it reeks of abandonment and neglect.

But fear not, for I am here to tidy up this mess!

Where should I start? Should this be one long (long, long, long) update post in which I tell you more than you care to know? Or should I only highlight the important aspects of the last ten or so days? Should I , oxymoronically, shut-up and talk the talk already?

I’LL DO ALL THREE without knocking you over, hopefully.

The important part(s)

Since the last post:

• We are still fighting THRUSH! Oh my sweet God of mercy and sanity, WE ARE STILL FIGHTING THRUSH. We completed the entire treatment course and were good to go for about a day or two until I noticed the white spots in the back of her throat again, after which I may or may not have sat there cursing the overgrown yeast partying it up in my baby’s throat. I so want to call the cops and complain of disturbance of population control on their ass and squash their party. Just as I figured, it’s probably because of one thing that I forgot to boil or sanitize that reinfected her/us. So anyway, we’re halfway through round two of treatment for this forsaken THRUSH!
  

  Baby girl is clearly SUFFERING. Good thing I bribe her with sweet potatoes -- that she inevitably gets all over her face.

• Saad was here for two whole months and like all good things, it came to an end last Thursday. That’s also partly the reason this blog has withered away. You see, his departure date sneaks up on us –here we are just minding our own business and soaking up his presence when BAM! There’s only a week left until he goes back. We try to do all sorts of family fun stuff/ lounging around in each others’ company during that time, which also means little to no distractions, ie news reading (for him) and self-delcared important internet browsing (for me), including blogging. So essentially, YOU CAN BLAME SAAD and his cruel, cruel departure date attacking us like that.
  • It’s always the worst part of the year whenever he has to go back, but hopefully we’ll be smelling each other’s morning breath in two (if we’re lucky) to 10 week’s time. (You can thank Aiman for this morning breath reference since we’ve watched the Shrek trilogy umpteen +1 times in the last few weeks. He LOVES the movies and we are all completely Team Ogre, so morning breath is the Ogre way to express that sentiment. Just FYI, is all.)
  • It’s been hard playing catch up since he left. In the previous post I mentioned he would come home for dinner and bedtime every night, so going through the bedtime routine along for both kids literally left me out of breath the first night after he left, although it could have something to do with those demonic cookies (scroll down).
• Another excuse legitimate reason this blog was thrown to the curb is that there was a bigger bully on the block who goes by the name, Medical School Personal Statement. He was fierce and totally kicked my butt. I had him under control at first, back in November, and had him all written beaten up. Then! Then that jerk came back with a vengeance and a low blow — my pride. Yeah! He took my pride and spat on it as he said “THIS ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH” and then ran away to the desktop trash can. So I worked out (my only “workout”) and battled him in the last few days, ending this feud once and for all last night. So you see, I had to invest what little writing fighting power I have and get this little “problem” taken care of.

The Extraneous Part(s):

• We rung in the new year with a late night barbecue and our good family friend, Bukky, over. We’ve known Bukky and her family since our Sunday School years and she’s essentially my sister, Sieda’s, “Summer.” We love that girl and we love her in-law-school-brain, which came in handy because (next point):

• Someone drove into our backyard on new year’s day. Sieda, Bukky, and I were on our way to go paintballing (OMG! NEXT POINT!) with a group of girls, and right as we were leaving, we heard a crash in the backyard. My mom looked out the back door and screamed my name — a scream that still makes my blood stop and my heart pound right through my chest. That’s when I knew something serious just happened. When we got to the site, we were all like, “Well, look at that. There’s a freakin’ car in the backyard” and the driver was unnaturally calm about it. My guess is that she was exhausted from work and simply dozed off because no one ran into her and it’s unlikely to just lose control of your vehicle unless it’s possessed, but then who keeps/drives a possessed car, you know?

• Paintballing. I love it. Wait, no I LOVE IT. That’s more like it. Now, you have to understand that I take it very seriously. The group I went with were all newbies, including myself, but it was obvious none of them had ever prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse and were far too forgiving to the other team. Also, you have to respect the fact that once you’re out of ammo, you’re vulnerable, and effectively OUTof the apocalypse. Would you forgive a zombie? I DIDN’T THINK SO. STAY LOW AND RESERVE YOUR AMMO.
  • Paint ball shots hurt so much, I just can’t describe it. My sister and I were on opposite teams, so you know we had to get each other first. It was mutually a personal objective and just plain personal. Well, she got me in my right arm while someone else shot at my left. She doesn’t know it, but in the midst of fire, I played mean, but behind the barrels? After she and someone paintballed me in the arms? I nearly cried in pain, hugging myself as I waited for the adrenaline to numb the pain. Paint balls hurt so much, people. So much.
  • The next day, I was not only branded in six solid bruises, but sore beyond my mind. Because I play hardcore? Perhaps. Because it was the only thing close to a workout I had in a very long time? Perhaps-Perhaps.
  • We went to Ci-Ci’s for a quick and easy dinner afterwards and I was leaking breast milk through my shirt, visible for all the restaurant to see. Did I care? Covered in dirt, paint, and god knows what that giant smudge of green-ish brown gunk on my thigh is? NO, BECAUSE I JUST SURVIVED A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. I sure will have an entire pizza and all of my dessert because I earned it, thankyouverymuch.

That concludes the update blabber, but wait THERE’S MORE.

More of my cynical conspiracy-theory wrapped rambling, that is. What did you expect, now?

So in an explanation worthy of another post, I’ve laid of coffee for a few weeks. I’ll go ahead and admit there are personal benefits so far, one of which is the ability to Just Say No. Like the way they teach you in school to Just Say No to drugs, only I’m not addicted, but I won’t refuse a good cup done right and fancy –perfect blend of creamer, sugar, and whipped cream with a sprinkle of cinnamon or chocolate. Who says no to that?

Luckily, only Starbucks does it as fancy as I’d like or care to do myself, so it’s been easy to refuse the “plain” variety, without any of the above.

But I cheat. I’ll drive up to Starbucks and ask for a DECAF something or another and feel so clever. I just enjoy the taste! It’s only for the taste! And maybe the placebo effect, even if I know it’s decaf.

credit via jasonlove.com

So anyway, I always have a secret fear that they forget to make it decaf and I chug back a fully-caffeinated beverage, which will make me stay up to odd hours of the night and between the kids’ sleeping patterns and my accidental caffeination, I’ll never experience sleep EVER AGAIN.

Today I got a venti iced coffee with the works –whipped cream and all that jazz — in decaf, of course. But it’s 3am and I am WIDE AWAKE (when I drafted this post, at least). Totally wired, even. I mean, I could even work out or something right now, but I’m not fooling anyone; I definitely won’t workout.

No, I’m not obsessing over the possible caffeine coursing my veins, fueling my insomnia. It wouldn’t be that venti iced coffee with the works. No. NO. The barista wouldn’t do that to me.

It could be PMS-induced insomnia, which I will gladly take because at least my PMS comes in a grande or less*.

*That’s a lie; my PMS totally comes in a trenta (Starbucks largest, ginormously gross-sized 31-oz size). That was the part you’d probably not care to know, but welcome to the risk of reading my blog.

*****

Saad has been back home for nearly two whole months, something unprecedented and unexpected in a semester, so that has been a seriously thanked for and savored treat. It’s been surprisingly impossible to coordinate our schedules mainly due to having only one car. I either have to drop him off as soon as the kids wake up and the library opens or he takes the car while we’re sleeping. There are obvious pros and cons either way, but he’s been back for dinner and to help me tuck the kids in every night and there isn’t a con that could ever out-do that.

*******

Aiman is officially in potty training mode and I’d like to point that we’re both still alive. We waited until he was officially three to actively start this certain growing pain if he didn’t train before then. He’s been aware of the concept for a long time, but had zero interest of actually using the toilet, neither were we pushing him to do so. It’s getting better and easier and hopefully we’ll have it down completely by the end of the year, otherwise known as THE NEXT THREE DAYS.

But to note, nothing will really happen if he’s not trained by then. I’ll just have to accept the potty-training-induced influx of laundry, something I might add, I was not anticipating and not thrilled about.

Wish I had some elves to help with THAT.

********

Manaal and I have been on THRUSH! treatment for about a week or so now and let me just tell you it is a pain. The suspension she’s taking smells bitter and she absolutely hates the taste, understandably. After a few doses and her negative/distressed reaction to it every single time, I called her doctor for an alternative or if I could mix it with milk or baby food and he agreed it would be a good idea. So that’s exactly what we’ve been doing and it’s been easier for her to take it.

I have to apply miconazole after every nursing and boil/sterilize anything that she might’ve put in her mouth. So far, so good. Goodness, I’m really hoping this is the last time we deal with THRUSH!

********

My mom, Saad, the kids, and I spent a quiet Christmas together. We don’t celebrate it for obvious reasons, but it would be a lie if I didn’t admit that I love this time of year. From Fall onwards is my favorite part of the year, and something about seeing the houses lit up on our street and the cheery atmosphere of The Holidays just makes it extra pleasant. My two younger sisters and my dad took a trip up to Seattle for a mini vacation/adventurous exploring and that was pretty neat for them. Hopefully we’ll have a big family trip somewhere sometime in the coming Spring or Summer.

********

MCAT studying has officially been halted until the Spring semester when there will be, hopefully, more stability in everyone’s schedule. I say “everyone” because I’m fortunate enough to have my sister adjust her work and school schedule, and then Saad to come back and finish up his semester here, and maybe even my mom-in-law if either of them can’t make it….all for me to get at least 4 straight hours to study.

That’s the plan, at least.

The only thing that’s been consistent with studying is how consistently it’s been a crapshoot. At one point I was even going to bed at 8pm, waking up at 2am and then studying until the kids got up. As you can imagine, this didn’t last long as it’s a crime against your body’s natural rhythm to wake up at that time and then force your brain to focus on equilibrium constants and nephrons, etc. rather than passing out at the table. Or it is against mine.

Personally, I’ve done some impressive eating-my-face-off in the past week or two. One example of this talent of mine is buying this case of soft chocolate chunk cookies from the grocery bakery. There were two rows of big, decadent chocolate-y cookies in each package and I thought Aiman, Saad and I would really enjoy them later that day. Well, after grocery shopping (alone with both kids) I was so freakin’ hungry and tired and thought “Gee! One of those cookies would be a great sugar/energy burst until I can get my hands on real food.”

Let’s just say that the same time the following day, there weren’t even crumbs left in the package.

At first I was simultaneously disgusted and impressed with myself, but now I’m mostly just trying to ignore the extra chine looking back at me in the mirror and denying that my belt latches into one hole over from the one it used to.

image credit: delish-blog.com

Chewy, chocolate chunk cookies are basically the devil.

Shortly after posting it I noticed another white spot on the inner part of Manaal’s cheek, only this spot was larger and looked meaner. This time I kept an eye on it and looked around the other parts of her mouth — you see, I’m learning.

As it turns out, there were other spots, patches even, all over the back of her mouth going down her throat as far as I could see. It didn’t look like the harmless milk or milk related residue anymore. I called her doctor and explained what I saw, to which he said sounded exactly like thrush.

THRUSH.

THRUUUUUUUUSSHHH.

It feels more and more dramatic the more I repeat it.

So my pumpkin’s got thrush, which by association and breastfeeding, means that I more than likely already have it too or will get it soon. Although I’m asymptomatic right now, I’m not too excited about the “stabbing, shooting, piercing” breast pain commonly associated with it when it really sets in. Actually we’re both relatively symptom free, thankfully, aside from the patches in her mouth. What’s more uncomfortable for her at this point is the timing of everything — teething pains, persistent congestion, recent vaccinations, so her legs are pretty sore, and other very literal growing pains on top of this thrush.

I found this informative and comprehensive article. After reading the many sites and pages I found about it, they’re sort of starting to drive me nuts. They, as in the yeast in the yeast infection. The damn things are so stubborn and opportunistic, easily transferred and hard to control. I’ll have to boil, sanitize, sterilize nearly everything and even then I feel like the one thing that I might forget will set off the infection again. Not to mention avoiding passing it on to Aiman and everyone else in the house.

What’s really the worse part though, is seeing how much misery Manaal is going through. Why can’t the universe just leave babies alone? WHAT DID THEY EVER DO TO ANYONE? The most heartbreaking part is their inability to communicate any of their pain; so helpless these little creatures are.

We’ve got to be really dedicated to our treatment plan and hopefully this will be the first and last time we ever have to deal with thrush. Seeing PumpkinCakes being such a trooper is motivating as she’s always been and always is, thankfully.

For now we will:

image via ww2poster.co.uk

And then the milk-or-milky-related residue said — Okay, it’s didn’t say anything this time. Or previous times for that matter, but strange conversations with the weird things developing on Manaal’s inner top lip aside, things were getting worrisome.

Consulting Dr. Google, who doesn’t require a co-pay by the way, it came down to one likely conclusion based, at least, on Google Image, Dr. Google’s highly informative Physician Assistant. From what I researched and imaged, it looked like thrush, which is basically a yeast infection of the mouth and/or throat. It’s also pretty contagious and usually passed back and forth between nursing baby and mother.

This brought the onslaught of Let’s Boil EVERYTHING We Can Think Of That’s Possibly Infected. I hesitated to tell Saad because if someone who knows my husband doesn’t use the word “germaphobic” to describe him, then that person doesn’t know him at all. Admittedly he can keep things pretty spotless, but at the same time, telling him about a possible bacterial infection of any kind isn’t the best way to get him to relax, we’ll say.

But I told him anyway.

I also called her Pediatrician to make an appointment for the following morning. We got to his office and waited to be seen— this is where I’m going to go off on a small (I hope) tangent.

Parents, if you’re taking your toddler, preschooler, general NON NEWBORN, to see the doctor, whether for a check-up or worse, an infection or illness, please use some common sense and courtesy and wait in the proper waiting area (i.e. NOT in the newborn waiting area).

We were sitting in the general waiting area when a mom and her preschooler came in. Her daughter was coughing from the moment she came through the door, yet for whatever reason, the mom thought it was perfectly fine to seat herself and her coughing kid in the newborn waiting area, with –get this– newborns waiting in there. And it wasn’t some open space for everyone; the newborn area is sectioned off by a wall with clear bold signs that it’s for newborns.

It took the receptionist to ask her to sit elsewhere, but seriously, why? If I was a parent with a newborn I’d be pissed beyond words at someone coming in there with a coughing older child.

Anyway.

Manaal’s doctor came in and after talking about it, he took a look and within five seconds confirmed it was NOT thrush, but something patches that develop in breastfeed, congested babies. I forgot to ask what it’s called, but a remedy for it? Vaseline, thinly applied a few times a day.

So that was our potential run-in with thrush that turned out to be a similar looking completely harmless-something-else, with a side of inconsiderate-people-rant.

She’s warm, milk-or-milk-related-residue free , and dandy!

Clothing: I stick to clothing and/or accessories that fall under “comfortable, presentable, and functional” meaning they should be comfortable enough to sprint after my three-year-old if necessary and lately, breast-feeding friendly; presentable so that it’s something I wouldn’t mind running into someone I know or important in public in; and functional as in what’s its purpose and is that purpose going to make my life easier or more complicated.

Perhaps that’s too stringent of a guideline (I don’t think so) and I don’t let my creativity flow enough to style out wardrobe, but here’s a confession for you: the fashion world boggles me. Trends, I can get into, but not all trends are created sensibly.

Below are some things that, quite frankly, agonize me.

Feather Hair Clips: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again–what is the functionality of this? Add shin or knee-length booths and it makes me think of modern-day Robin Hoodettes or add a maxi dress and it reminds me of Amazonian Warriors; that dying and styling hair with feathers is paying some odd homage to ancestral women heroes? I don’t really know. To sum it up, be a bird or be a human, but not a vague hybrid of both. PICK ONE SPECIES.

Fingerless Mittens/Gloves: Again, this serves no real function. Aren’t mittens/gloves for keeping your hands– which I believe include your fingers — warm? If your mittens/gloves are fingerless, then I’d say they’re broken. Or someone ran out of yarn/leather.

Asymmetrical-anything: Asymmetry can be neat, especially in nature, but things get weird when it comes to asymmetrical clothes. Why would someone make one side of a dress longer than the other, or one side of a top sleeveless while leaving the other in tact? How is that not against rationale? HOW IS THAT NOT UGLY?

Fur Vests: Don’t make me have to explain this one.

PJ’s to campus/in public: Maybe it’s just me because I saw it from time to time while in undergrad, but something about rolling out of bed, getting ready for the day, but staying in one’s PJs to go out in public sounds like an act of negligence.

Sorry CLOTHES, but you don’t deserve my attention and love today, but I sure will tend to my makeup, hair, and accessories like it’s no one’s business. My body is just going to have to bear the PJs it wore all night because it doesn’t deserve real clothes.

This one is more of a Pop Star trend and thankfully I haven’t seen anyone do this in public….yet? Leotards and tights (ballerinas and gymnasts are totally different): This just plains disturbs me because as I never, in my life, want to see your crotch and so much of it at that. Like, ever. Please just sing ye songs and dance ye moves and save thy eyes the image of ye delicates. (Christina Aguilera’s is the tamest leotard-tights-spandex combo I found).

Do you have any trends that distress you? Do share!