Still No Spider...

I think my declaration of war may have scared that horrible spider off. I haven't seen her, or been bitten. Maybe she decided that I taste gross. I hope so.

I think Alex is going through another growth spurt. His sleep schedule is all messed up. All he wants to do is eat, but then he gets too much, and pukes it up everywhere. It's such a discouraging waste of milk, but he doesn't want to stop eating.

I got a ton of pictures printed from years ago... I ordered them online, because Wal-Mart had a free shipping to home deal. I hate that place, but it was worth it to get them done, finally. I had years of them sitting on my old HD & in my storage drive... I still don't have all the ones I want, but I got about 300 of them. Now comes the hard part... Organizing them, and putting them in an album, and finding the time to do it.

Shhhh... I'm in the shower....

Not really. Just supposed to be...
So, after I was saying I didn't mind my eight-legged house guests...
I woke up yesterday morning to a huge, hairy, fangy spider crawling up my arm. I shrieked, and flung it... Somewhere.

 I was only half awake. They bite. I kill that particular kind of spider when I come across one in the house, because they bite. I've been bitten by them before, and it sucked. We were unable to find where I had flung her, so she remained alive.
This morning, I woke up to two huge bites on my left arm, about an inch apart. The swollen area around them was about the size of a quarter. It was painful and itchy.
An hour later, a silver dollar.
Not long after that, about three inches across. Damn, now it really hurt.
I went online for about an hour, trying to figure out what kind of spider these fuckers really are, and what to do about them. And I can't find a damn thing. No images, no descriptions, nothing. Interweb, you have failed me.
My mother told me to ice it, take some Benadryl, and keep an eye out for fever. If I get one, I should see a doctor, ASAP. So far, no fever, but it still hurts like a bitch, and is very, very swollen. My biggest issue with this bitch is that I really don't want Alex to get bitten.
So, if I find Andariel, she's going to die. (Yep, I gave her a name- for those of you who don't know, it's a video game demon that does poison damage.) I am going to shove down my inner Buddhist, and squash the shit out of her. It's on bitch. This is war.

Skeeter Infestation!!!!!

I HATE mosquitoes. I'm severely allergic to their bites. And for some reason, for the past few days, there are a shitton of them in my house. Biting only me. Why is this??? How did the fkkers get in? Why are my spiders failing to catch them?

Usually, I'm quite pleased with my house spiders. They take take of flies, skeeters, ants, and such like that are bothersome to me. I don't mind them at all. In the fall, I just clean up the dead ones, and wait eagerly for spring's new little hatch-lings.

Heather thinks this is creepy.

I think it's economical and planet-friendly.

But now that they aren't doing their jobs, I'm a little irate. Not that I'm going to kick them out or go on a killing spree. I just wish they'd do their jobs a little better.

Our most recent addition is a tunnel spider that lives by our downstairs bathroom sink. It's not bothering Hella, so it doesn't bother me. When GW found her, he left her there. He thought she would scare me. I was surprised, but not scared. And it's "his" sink anyway. It's filthy, I don't use it unless I have to... If he wants her gone, he's going to have to do it. No way am I going near her fangs. They're huge. Since she's moved in, the fly population that's been plaguing that bathroom (& litter box) has gone down significantly. This is a huge bonus. I hate those flies almost as much as I hate skeeters, if only because there's so many of them.

Today, I killed 2 skeeters. Last night, I also killed 2 of them. The night before, it was just one. All of these had bitten me. I just got bitten again, but was unable to locate the offending skeeter.

I'm at the point of paranoia about this. Does anyone know a good way to get rid of them? I've checked all possible entrances, and everything is still sealed up tight. This is way too many to have gotten in when the doors are open. I'm at a loss.

I just want to give him a bath...

Is this too much to ask? I mean, really... When I don't want to, he's up. Now, he's contentedly asleep after fussing all through me trying to eat my only real meal of the day. Nursing + eating = not recommended. I got Catalina dressing in his ear. Yup. Right in the ear. /facepalm. I'm terrible at doing two things at once. And I'm a messy eater. That's why Paris loves me sooo much. She knows I'll drop something, and whatever's on the floor is fair game. Too bad she wasn't there when I dripped. She likes Catalina.
My supply has improved today (w00t!), I think from the extra pumping I'm doing, just in case the squirrel issue happens again. I know it will, but I can't really plan for it, so at least I'll have something saved up when Alex needs it. Previously, I was just feeding him whatever I pumped when he didn't wake up soon enough, and that worked out fine.
Alex also has a heat rash, along with his infant acne. We're calling him Troll Baby. He looks awful.

It was worse than I thought it would be...

Yesterday sucked worse than I had anticipated.
I woke up to a pain on the top of my ear. Then, I heard the distinct buzz of a mosquito. A mosquito BIT ME ON THE EAR! WTF! What kind of idiot mosquito bites you on the ear??? I spent about ten minutes, trying not to wake Alex, and kill the mosquito. It bit me on the back. It landed on Alex's head. Where I slapped it (and killed it) but it woke Alex up. *Sigh* I gave him noms, and he went back to sleep. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
The next time I woke, it was because my back was cold. And wet. Alex had projectile spit-up on my back. Fabulous. I changed both of us, and gave him more noms, but he wasn't happy, I didn't have enough.
I made him a bottle from some frozen milk. While he was screaming at me and thrashing in his sling. When it was done, he didn't want it.
He only slept for 5 minute intervals for the rest of the day. I was able to eat some salami. and a small piece of chocolate. I didn't get time for anything else. I did, however, remember to take my vitamin. Go me. :P
By the time GW got home, I was a nutcase.
He took screamy, fussy Alex, and told me to go do something else. YAY! I went caterpillar hunting with my camera. I could only find one of the five we know about. *sigh*
Alex stayed fussy most of the evening. After I finally decided what I wanted to eat, and was almost finished, the squirrels came back. Eff my life. Then Alex woke up, and wanted noms. So, I tried to do that, but had to stop. Squirrels again. Uuuggghhh... I had to run downstairs, dump Alex in GW's lap, and run to the bathroom.  Thankfully, we have one on each floor. Spent about 10 minutes listening to GW try to calm Alex before I could safely come out again.
I hate my broken body. My supply is still low today, but I'm still drinking and trying to grab a bite to eat when I can, and hoping the squirrels don't come back. Alex is sleeping in his swing. But, he smiled at me today, really big smiles. When he does that, it makes everything so much better.  

Drained

I'm not sure why I feel like this... Just bllllaaahhhh...

I woke up early this morning to an attack of what GW & I affectionately call " the squirrels"... i.e., IBS. Not nearly as cute as this little guy who raids our bird feeder. It feels like I have about ten of them running around in my guts and chewing me from the inside out. It was bad. I even threw up.

Thankfully, GW also wasn't feeling well, and had stayed home from work. So when I had to run to the bathroom, Alex wasn't alone. I guess if I didn't have help, I'd have to bring him with me. The thought kind of grosses me out, making my baby spend all that time in the bathroom, but I don't know what else I could possibly do in that case. I'm sure it will happen sometime.

Holly had planned a BBQ dinner for Heather, who's 35th birthday was Saturday. I was feeling better by then, so we went. Every birthday for Heather is extremely precious to us. We almost lost her to liver failure about 8 years ago. She's only alive today thanks to a motorcycle accident, and the resulting donated liver. The doctors never found out why her liver failed at such a young age. They have theories, but no real reason as to why it happened. But, she's doing just fine. Her doctors say that her liver function is now indistinguishable from a healthy, normal liver. She is even allowed to have moderate amounts of alcohol now.  

Heather had no idea we were coming to Holly's. She was thrilled to see us, and we all had a good time.

I just feel so worn down. Not just physically, emotionally, too. When I have an attack of the squirrels, I always feel this way after for a couple of days, I guess. Tomorrow will probably suck just as bad. It takes a lot out of me (no pun intended). I hope I feel better so that I can properly care for Alex. Even the act of feeding him was exhausting, and frustrating, I didn't make as much milk as usual from loosing all that water. Feeding had us both in tears a couple of times. It seems like no matter how much I drank, I couldn't keep up with his need. I'm going to try to keep chugging Gatorade tonight, and hoping my supply improves. Again... Bllllaaaahhh...  

"Sleep When The Baby Sleeps"

I've always thought this was one piece of advice that was utterly useless.

When TJ was awake, he was either screaming, or feeding, or getting a diaper change. When Alex is awake, he's fairly content... As long as he's within touching distance of me, or he's busy eating (he spends most of his waking time attached to my boobs), or again, he's being changed.

So who does the laundry for me? When do I get to eat? What about some personal time... Like going to the bathroom? Maybe a shower? What about my writing (the only thing keeping me sane)?

So, I try to plan my activities around when Alex is asleep. "Plan" is used very loosely here. Obviously, I can't wait every time I need to pee.

Today saw very little "me" time. It was our first day alone. GW went back to work this morning. He called to check on us, but I had turned the ringer off, because Alex & I were napping together.

I discovered that one of my cats (most likely Paris) had gotten into my office (off limits to the kittehs) and knocked my laptop off it's perch... So I had to fix that up before I could do anything with it. I'm now missing my "Tab" key. Thanks, you bitch. Then I used a couple more minutes of Alex's content-awake time to IM GW, so he wouldn't think I was just ignoring him. It didn't take long before Alex realized I wasn't within an arms reach of touching, so that was a short conversation.

Alex had a fussy time, but I still don't know what was wrong with him. Was he unhappy with my output? He'd already drained me. Tired? Wet? Dirty? Nothing seemed to help. Not even the paci (he now knows the difference, and will accept no substitutes when he wants noms) was working. I wrapped him up and rocked him while he screamed at me. And then I got on the "WTF was I thinking?" track in my brain. Why did we want a baby? It was just crazy. What were we thinking? Why did I think this had been a good idea? And we wanted another one? We had to be out of our minds. I sat there and cried, because I didn't know what else to do, I'd tried everything. I even tried fashioning a makeshift sling to put him in. He hated it, and it wasn't the most comfortable, either.

Maybe he just needed to cry or had a tummy ache or something, because he eventually stopped on his own. And wanted to be fed.

But by the time GW got home, I was in a mood- I was tired of being little more than a milk machine, and I had to pee very bad. GW took a nap. Grrrr.... I still had to pee, so I left Alex crying on the bed to do so, even though I hate to leave him crying. Damn GW's nap, I really had to go. And he said it was ok when I apologized. Then he promptly went back to sleep. And I went back to being milked. *sigh*

Is this kid ever going to stop eating constantly every waking minute? I know he will... But when?

So, now that I've got the photo thing figured out...

This is one of my favorite pictures so far...
Obviously, we were still in the hospital. GW took this while Alex was content to sleep. His conehead was already mostly gone.

Mes Kittehs & Dog

This is about my cats & my dog, so if I refer to them, you know who I'm talking about. If you care about that sort of thing. Here goes...


Jack... Black Jack The Undead Pirate Samurai Cat...
Jack was the product of a love-fest between one of my (former) neighbor's blue-ribbon Siamese and my common housecat, Arwen. Arwen went into heat, and slipped out the door. She was only in the shed, and we knew she'd get hungry and come in eventually. However... Siamese kitty had smelled her, and escaped from his house. He slipped into the shed past my feet. There was much kitteh love, but we couldn't catch either of them.
Here's the kicker- the woman who owned the baby-daddy called the police on us for "stealing her prize winning cat". The officer that came to the door was amused, especially when I told him what happened. The woman wanted us to have Arwen spayed immediately, thus aborting her kittens. Of course, we said no.
Arwen gave birth to a litter of four, two silver mackerel tabbies, and two tuxedo kittens. One of each color was fuzzy, and promised medium to long hair. We gave away three of them, but I kept Jack. I'd always wanted a tuxedo kitten, and here he was. He was the one with short hair, and looked the most Siamese of them all.
I brought him outside on a harness. Once. The woman who owned his father accosted me. She had made papers for the kittens. She wanted me to pay he $450.00 for each kitten. WTF. I told her to go fuck herself, and never brought Jack out for a walk again.
He yowls and talks like a Siamese, and has a dreadful temper. When you pick him up, he's solid muscle- about 14 pounds of it. He looks (and acts) like a Siamese, but the wrong color. He loves to take showers, as long as he doesn't get water on his face. He also has a death wish- ribbons (the longer and more undigestable the better) and plastic bags are his favorite food groups. Jack is also a hard-core catnip addict. He has a special yowl that he uses when he wants to get high, and it brings the other four running, because they know I'll give in to Jack's claws eventually. He hates me. I love him.

Paris Kitten...

Paris was acquired after Jack's older sister, Minerva, died. She had been the runt of her litter, and was never in good health, so I kept her. She died suddenly, I'm using my educated guess, and saying it was probably heart failure, she had a grade 6 murmur, and was extremely susceptible to environmental stress. (From this litter also came Scoot, more on him later.) He was very attached to her, and after she passed, he went into a depression. He ceased to talk, and just went around my apartment crying and looking for her. I thought that a kitten might help Jack come out of it. So I went looking for one. I found a "FREE KITTENS!" poster in the gas station next door to my apartment, and called them. They were only a couple of streets away, so, Heather, Rebecca, TJ, and I went to go see them.

We fell in love with Paris almost instantly. She was the smallest cutest fluffiest littlest thing ever! I guessed her to be about 8 weeks old, but the man told me the kittens were already 14 weeks. They'd run out of people they knew to give them to, and had decided it was time to advertise. Their mother was a full-blooded Maine Coon, but they weren't sure about the dad, since mom was an outdoor cat.

Paris was the smallest of her sisters (there were four left), and I was a little wary of picking up another runt. But her little face was just irresistible, and I brought her home with me. Jack hated her right from the start. He let me know he was not pleased with my choice in various ways.

I soon found out that she wasn't the brightest light bulb in the box. She'd repeatedly slam into my gerbil's cage, trying to catch her. She never learned that glass isn't meant to jump through, and still slams into windows trying to catch birds... She's got the instinct of a hunter, but not the brains. She is, however, a gorgeous cat, and that's how she got her name. Paris = pretty, but really stupid.

Hella... As in "that's a hella cool cat", & Puff... As in... Well, she's puffy.

Hella & Puff came as a pair from the shelter I worked at. They originally lived with just GW in his apartment. Hella loves people, and she is very, very needy. She has an obsession with our bathroom sink. She never goes upstairs, the downstairs bathroom is her "lair". She hates the other cats with a passion, even Puff sometimes. She gets picked on a little because she's so antisocial. Jack will walk toward her and raise his paw, just to hear her yowl.

Puff used to be quite frightened of GW. When we first brought them back to his place, she found the top of his kitchen cupboards... and stayed there for about a week. For the longest time, she would only allow me to touch her, she wanted nothing to do with GW, and certainly nothing to do with TJ, either. Anyone walking around would send her off running for a hiding place. She's doing a lot better now, though. TJ can pet her if she comes to him, and he doesn't make any sudden movements. When visitors come, she's nowhere to be seen for at least a couple of hours after they've gone. Heather & Holly have only seen pictures of her, and we've had her for almost 3 years now.

Anubis... Also known as "Nubis" or sometimes just "Noob"

Noob was from a litter of 10 puppies, presumed to be black Labs, (because their mother was a Lab) who were going to be killed in a shelter's gas chamber in Arkansas. The reason the puppies were going to be gassed was that "no one wants Labs down here". Sickening, isn't it? A kind-hearted person who worked at the kill shelter contacted a rescuer in Texas, and he took the puppies, all 10, in. He made contact with another rescue group here in Maine, and arranged for some of the puppies to be transferred to her care. There was only one little problem.

Maine state law is that dogs coming into the state must be held in quarantine for 5 consecutive days before going to their adoptive homes. And those five days, the rescuer had already made plans to attend a college class reunion. So she placed an ad of Cragislist for someone who could help her out. I answered, along with many others. We'd just moved into our new house about two weeks before, and we weren't even finished unpacking, but I had the space, the time, and the experience.

After exchanging emails and a few phone calls, they decided I'd be the best one to take the job. Some of the other offers to help were ludicrous- an old woman who thought it would be a good opportunity for her 13 year old granddaughter to learn to be responsible, for example.

As it ended up, I did not have to take all 10 of them. Four of the pups found homes in Texas, and two found homes in New Hampshire, so it was left up to me to only have to care for four of them. And we got to keep one of our choice.

I knew right away they weren't pure Lab. They had almond-shaped eyes, and pert little ears, cute stubby noses, and various white markings on their chests and toes. These were Pitbull pups. Not a doubt in my mind. After seeing them, I was much happier with keeping one, as I really didn't want a Lab, I had wanted a Pit.

We like to call his breed "Staffordshire Retriever". People aren't as scared of him that way. Now that Noob is all grown up, he looks like a Pit. Big chest, short nose, cute tiny ears, slanty eyes, and he weighs about 65 pounds. He won't get to play with Alex for a long time, though. He's a little too spazzy. It's not that I don't trust Noob implicitly with children, I do, he loves them (the worst he'd do is lick them to death). He just gets so excited, and he doesn't know his own strength. Noob is used to playing rough with GW & TJ, and I've been known to throw him around a little, too (and play with his mouth, and tweak his cute ears).

Scoot... Our "Special Kitty"...

Scoot was born to Arwen the spring before Jack. (They were both born on Easter.) Scoot was Minerva's littermate, and was also very involved with raising the kittens. He loves babies- when he thinks we're hurting Alex, he bites (or claws) us, or whoever is near (like poor unsuspecting Jack) who might be causing the problem.

Scoot belonged to JP, my youngest brother. When my parents divorced, Scoot was left in the middle. My father went to live with his mother, and took JP with him. (My sister moved back in with my mom.) My grandma didn't want to have Scoot in the house, but said she'd pay to have him neutered, so I could take him.

Time passed by, and I heard nothing from them about it. Then one day...

I was showing a friend the webpage for the shelter I had worked at. And on it, was Scoot. He'd been given the name "Mufasa"- which really suited him better, and it was what I had sometimes called him in spite of JP's choice of a name. There was just no mistaking those sea-green eyes. I'd only seen them on Ramona Lisa (Arwens' mother) and Arwen's kittens. I immediately called the shelter. Scoot had been there for almost six months. And time was running out for him. With the new director having taken over, there were a lot more animals dying. She had put a six month limit on any animal's length of stay. We went to go see Scoot that night. One of my friends who worked at the front desk let me in to see him, although they were closed. Most definitely Scoot. The cat room lady had said there had been some interest in him recently. I said I'd come and get him tomorrow. We did. I called Heather (in a fit of rage at what my father had done) and she told me... "You know, I was there a few days ago, and I saw him! I asked to hold him and everything! I thought it was Scoot, but then I was like, no way, it couldn't be him, just a cat who looked like him, maybe one of his kittens or something."

We did go and pick him up the next day, and I told my friend from the desk that I knew the person who had "expressed interest" in Scoot. She had been the owner of his great-grandmother, and recognized his unique family trait- the huge sea-green eyes. So Scoot had a happy ending, and a somewhat joyous reunion with Jack. They still knew each other, and they get along just like brothers... Which means I have a lot of pulled-out fur to pick up when they scuffle.

After getting out of the shelter, Scoot just isn't the same kitty he was. Yes, it is definitely the right cat. Most of his old behaviour patterns were evident... but there are some new ones. We think he had a stroke. If you scratch him in certain places, he licks the air vigorously. It's quite amusing.

Alex Is 3 Weeks Old...?

ALREADY??? How did that happen? Oh, right time. I hate it.



We just got back yesterday from our first long trip. We drove about 5 hours to my Aunt Kay's, so we could see the best fireworks. I'm firmly convinced that Eastport has the best fireworks in Maine. Especially since Portland's was effed up and all caught on fire again this year. They need to hire a different company.

The four worst things that happened were:

GW forgot to bring the stroller.

I forgot to bring my sneakers.

We had no sun hat for Alex.

We got eaten alive my hordes of hungry mosquitoes and no-see-em's.


All in all, it could be worse.

GW didn't know I wanted the stroller. Um, hun, that thing needs to go EVERYWHERE with us. He had to wear Alex (my boobs don't allow me to wear the carrier we have, I need to make a sling), and it was about 90 degrees, so, lesson learned.

I got blisters on both my feet from my flats, so I ended up wearing socks with them after that. I'm a dummy.

Aunt Kay called my cousin Marie, and she was able to find a smallish hat that belonged to her youngest (Jason, 5) and was able to modify it to fit Alex for a quick fix. I need to find the pattern for a sun hat an make one for him. I know I saved the website for it, now I need to do it. After I beat my sewing machine and get a new needle...

I have some serious welts all over me (2 enormous ones on my butt, of all places, this is one of the worst to get bitten) from the bugs. I have a very bad reaction to bug bites. I just keep slapping more of my prescription ointment on them. Not much else I can do. **sigh**



So, back to Alex... He had some issues with latching on, and for the first week or so of his little life, he gave me blisters on my nipples... OWWW!! I never had that much trouble with TJ. One of the nurses in the hospital gave us some very bad advice.
Use a pacifier.
It worked like a charm. But...
There was one day that Alex wouldn't take my breast for 8 hours. After the first four hours, we figured out it was the paci that was causing the problem. He was hungry, but sucking on the paci was easier. We took it away. Four hours (and lots of screaming from him, and crying for me) later, he was so frustrated that we weren't giving it back, that he finally ate. That day was just awful. Engorgement & a baby that won't nurse is a recipe for some serious pain.

But he's got it down now. He eats about every 2-3 hours during the day, and is much better at getting a good latch. At night, he sleeps for 4-6 hours at a time, which means that I sometimes have to get up & pump. It never fails that as soon as I start pumping, he wakes up and wants to be fed.

We've learned how to tell what his fussing means, too. So much easier now that we know this cry means "I'm tired", that one means "I'm hungry", and this other one means "I'm totally pissed off and I don't know why"- usually a very wet or dirty diaper is the cause of that one.

Alex has also made a sort-of schedule, too. Right now, it's nap time. I know you're supposed to sleep when the baby sleeps, but when do I get to eat? (I already did that ;) ) So... ummm.. yeah, that's it for this one, I guess.