Photopalooza

Sunday randoms

A few thoughts as I struggle to convince my body that actually sleeping at night is permitted while I'm on short-term leave from work.

City of Angels? Geez, no wonder so many Americans are on antidepressants. Thank you 3TV, for playing quite possibly the worst movie that could be aired at one in the morning. Humans awake at this time are up because we're either stressing over the purchase of a new house, or our lovebird recently died, or we have a nearly twelve year-old that is giving us all kind of lip and our hearts are breaking because teenage years are looming on the horizon and they look a little ominous. More Southpark or Ellen please.

So yes, we wrote a contract for a house yesterday that will be built while I work on getting my body ready to try to get pregnant. It's time for us to be homeowners again.

But we also lost Joey yesterday. My sweet little clown of a lovebird who I teased and spoke to all day. He was alive in the morning but when we came home last night he was gone. That's the tricky part about birds - they are champions at hiding illness until it's too late. I know this and yet feel so guilty for not noticing a clue to his not feeling well that maybe could have saved him. He was so tiny and to a lot of people "it's just a bird" but Emma and I are so sad because we really did love him and he loved us.

See what City of Angels has done to me tonight?

Time for a tub of cookie dough and some emo music.

Fart face

Chad and I are laying in bed, winding down after a long day of Chad doing all the chores while I work on getting bedsores all day long. (Tendon surgery is not made for active folks.) He's reading what I can only assume is a vampire novel while I play on my phone and I suddenly feel his eyes on me.

Me: What? Did you fart?

Chad: Noooo. I was smiling at you because I love you.

Me: Then why did you have your 'I just farted' look on?

Chad: THIS is my fart look.

Me: So then my question is why does your fart face look exactly like your "I love my wife' face?

Farty: Because I feel love during both of those faces.

This marriage just keeps getting more romantic every year.

The latest foot picture:

What happens when a lightweight hubs gets an IV sedative and tries to text

Jam

How ridiculous is it that I'm posting this from my iPhone because I don't want to get back on those blasted crutches?  It's late and I've reached my crutch usage limit for the day.  Unless all that Miralax miraculously and suddenly kicks in.  Then I'll win some kind of land speed record for hightailing it to the john using assistive devices.  Narcotics do bad things to the lower end of humans.

(Thank you for the picture, fellow nurse Tarsa.)

TMI, I know.

Isn't this fun?

Here's some more fun.  Today I went from this: (that's a cold water circulating device around my post-op splint, very spiffy)

To all the latest in Storm Trooper spring footwear:

And here's the TMI part, the carnage:

GACK! 

Couple of torn tendons, a joint effusion and a ruptured ligament.  Lots of scar tissue that had welded the old damaged tendons in place.  I got what's called a Brostrom procedure done, tendon transfer and an arthroscopic debridement of my messed up joint. Here's the most YUCK part.  But kinda cool.  But still kinda yuck.  I have placenta in my foot.  That's right, they used stem cells from placental tissue and implanted a couple blobs on if it in there to improve healing.  Hopefully I'll be cleared for walking in three weeks, and I'll let you know if my foot is pregnant in about four.

Goooooodnight.

That's MRS. Grumpypants to you

So our baby-making plans are on hold.  That's all I'm going to say about that, because I'm sick of talking about it.  And kinda depressed over it.  And sick of talking about how I'm depressed over it.  SHUT UP, ME.

Ok, well I *will* tell you that I'm having surgery next Wednesday to repair what was apparently never repaired at all.  Downside?  Surgery, non-weight bearing for six to eight weeks.  Having to have someone help me wipe my own bum.  Upside?  The doctor says he's going to give me Dilaudid.

At least I'll be tweaked out enough this time to not want to chew my own foot off.

AND new subject.

Emma has apparently decided that now is a good time to act pre-menstrual.  Because there's not enough drama going on around here without her rolling her eyes at me every two seconds and arguing with EVERYTHING I say, especially if it has anything to do with birds.  Because suddenly she's a bird expert and the rest of us are all idiots. 

This morning she unfortunately timed an eye-roll and a snotty retort with MORNING *** and ended up getting her iPod taken away for the week.  We're not the corporal punishment type of parents.  Well, I think Chad would be if I let him.  But I am not.  So he isn't.  So we do the most awful, unimaginable thing next to snuffing our cigarette butts out on our child's arm: we take away her technology.
What do I find when I sit down at my desk this evening to waste some time on Facebook?  A blue outdated iPod plugged into my computer.  Ok, whatever.  I'm surfing around and Emma comes up behind me, picks up the iPod and says, "Oh GOOD, it's charged! Since you took away my other one I'm using this one!"

Parent: 1, Kid: 0

At least she hasn't figured out how to really be sneaky yet.

AND camping pictures. Because what's more fun than camping in the freezing cold for three days with three dogs and an eleven year-old who has no access to technology?  Camping WITH A BUSTED FOOT in the freezing cold for three days with three dogs and an eleven year-old who has no access to technology.

Can you tell that Sadie just had ELEVEN teeth pulled?  Now she looks like she lives in a doublewide and has a brother who is also her cousin.

 (It actually was a lot of fun to be unplugged from the world for three days but whining is fun for me right now.  I'm still smiling on the inside.)

***I am SO not a morning person - just ask my friend Jamie. I hit her in the head with a flashlight when she attempted to wake me up at girl's camp one summer.  Sorry Jamie.

Well isn't THIS fun

You thought I was done bitching about my foot.

No.

I haven't had any pain relief since my surgery, let's just be honest.  There have been a few moments where I've taken a few Tramadols and felt sweet relief, but who wants to go around high all the time?  Ok, maybe some people do, but I don't.  And it's not even a good high, like a nice Percocet daze.  It's solely a pain relief high.  So I don't know if you could even call it a high.

So I thought I would just have a little look-see into getting an MRI of my foot, just to make sure all this pain I was still feeling wasn't in my stupid head.

It wasn't.  The doc called this morning and I'm meeting with her at one, but at this point I DO know that I have a completely torn ligament in my effing ankle.  Seriously.

SERIOUSLY.

I don't know what's going to happen.  What's going to happen with our baby plans? Today's doc appointment was actually already made before these MRI results came back.  I was supposed to get a referral to the IVF dude today, but now it's turned into a "let's talk about your foot" appointment instead.  I'm sure I'll need surgery again.  But I don't want it!  I would rather hobble around broken and pregnant than put IVF off again.  After IVF I'll just get one of these:

I'll get a matching parrot and eye patch and we'll just call it good.

Seriously, though, all I can think is that I want to burrow my head under a million pillows and never come out again.  Don't know what's going to happen now.  I know for sure that I'm not bringing up my numb face and arms to the doc!  I would rather not know.

I wish I'd never even looked into this foot problem again.  Sigh.