Life Update

Dylan is sleeping and is due to wake up any minute. This is of course the best time to start an all-purpose update blog post. I'm practically inviting failure and there is a good chance you will never see this posted.

I Have No Husband
Well no, technically I still do. But ever since going back to work in the new year, Eric has been working some extreme hours. He goes to work at a normal time most mornings, but stays at the office until 2 or 3 in the morning. Then he stumbles home, catches a few hours of sleep, then gets up to feed Dylan so he at least still knows he has a father, then goes off to work again.

There is a medium-to-good chance that Eric is having an affair. It would not be surprising for Eric to be this bad at having an affair that he just claims he's working late until 2 or 3 every night, but is actually in the arms of his clandestine lover. I keep trying to catch him in a lie, but he is actually pretty consistent with his story. I don't blame him for staying consistent because he knows that if he is caught in an affair, his balls will be ripped off and liquified in a blender and then force-fed back to him. So you know. Let me know if you have any information. I'm too lazy to do anything about it.

Dylan is a Monster Tank
He is so big. My little wee baby is gone forever and in its place is a chunky block of muscle and chub. He still can't walk independently but he insists on holding onto our fingers and charging around everywhere. And he poops like an absolute machine!

And recently, he has made a hysterical game out of flipping over onto his stomach anytime you want to change his diaper. I know he thinks it's hilarious because he looks at me first and starts cackling like a wicked witch, then arches his back and rolls over onto his stomach. And then he looks at me again and continues to cackle. And when you try to flip him back over, he laughs and resists and kicks his feet like he's dancing.

It's all fine and good as long as it's a pee diaper. It's annoying because it takes forever to get the new diaper on him and the whole time I'm in fear of him spraying pee everywhere. But when it's a poo diaper, it's just disgusting. The potential is high for stinky poo to get everywhere. I've started to change him on the floor when it's a poo diaper and I push one of my legs across his torso to forcefully pin him down. As he gasps for air and moans in pain, I feel there must be a better way to do this. So you know. Let me know if you can think of anything. I'm too stupid now to innovate ideas.

I Love Shameful TV
Ever since Eric started working these late night, I have become increasingly dependent on trashy television. It all started on the season premiere of The Bachelor on a Monday night. Eric was working late and Dylan had gone down to sleep at his customary 7pm, and there was nothing for me to do after eating my dinner. So I turned on the TV and started flipping through channels. The Bachelor caught my eye as I was surfing. All the girls were filing out of a limo and introducing themselves to Jason Mesnick. I wanted to check out the group of desperate bimbos, so I started watching. I was all casual and saracastic about it, and I ended up watching the entire episode. I made fun of the trailer they tacked on at the end promising scandal and intrigue for the remainder of the season. I was not pathetic.

The following Monday, Eric was again working late, so I flipped on the TV and saw that The Bachelor was on. "Oh," methinks to myself. "Look at that. I may as well tune in to see what those wacky girls are up to."

By the third Monday, I was eagerly awaiting 8:00 and the two-hour extravaganza of awesomeness that is The Bachelor.

This week, I just sucked it up and dove into not only The Bachelor, but also all iterations of American Idol, and topped it off with an episode of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" and then "Pregnant and Paralyzed" on TLC.

It's the beginning of 2009 and I am once again TV's bitch. So you know. Let me know if you are addicted to any other good trashy shows. I'm too strung out on these shows to look for new ones.

My Eyeball Was Injured
My left eye had been bothering me for a few months. If you hang out with me often, you will likely recall moments when I would put my hand up to my eye and complain of a stinging sensation, followed by a run to the washroom to take out my contact lens to clean it. I may have also asked Eric to blow in my eye.

I finally went to the eye doctor and he looked at my eyeball. Turns out something had gotten under my contact lens some time ago and scraped off a section of my cornea. I'm pretty sure it happened in Cuba. Possibly with sand. I had to stop wearing my contact lenses and wear glasses for a few days while it healed.

This story really isn't that interesting, I just really get annoyed with having to wear my glasses for such a long period of time. Glasses suck. So you know. Whatever.

And on that note, I will end with a spontaneous rhyming couplet:
If Eric cheats his balls I will destroy
And lack of sperm will not be due to soy

"IT WAS YOU!!"

Dylan has major gas today. I think he might be a little bit sick, because his head feels warmer than usual, his appetite is strangely small, and he's been gulping water at a shocking pace.

His farts smell like rotten eggs. Which, I know that's what farts are supposed to smell like. Everyone says that farts smell like eggs, eggs smell like farts...I used to make egg salad in Kingston while Gloria was in class and when she got back she'd know I had been making egg salad because it smelled like I had held a large choir practice in the apartment but instead of practising songs, everyone had farted and left. But Dylan's farts today really DID smell like rotten eggs, like I detected distinct notes of poached egg white. And he hadn't eaten any poached egg white at all, in fact, he had spat out all of his delicious kale, onion, and cherry tomato omelette which I ended up eating, including the ABC pieces he spat out.

Sidebar: I have never eaten so much ABC food as I have in the past 4 or 5 months since Dylan started solids. I'm like a dog. A really flabby, non-hairy dog with stretchmarks.

He farted all throughout the day, the same flavour each time. Late in the afternoon, I heaved him into my arms and went down to the parking garage to get something from the car. And he FARTED IN THE ELEVATOR. It was completely gross. I was so scared someone would be waiting for the elevator down in P2 and think that I had made that smell. Do I blame the baby? It seemed not only cruel, but also not very believable. If it were me, I would not believe that a small innocent baby would be able to make a smell so potent. I don't think I've smelled anything like that since my first trimester when my poo was backed up and came out extra fermented.

Luckily, there was no one down there, and we went to the car and got what we needed. Dylan thought that being taken down to the cold parking garage in his pyjamas was a hoot. He started giggling once we were in the parking area and was happily pointing at everything. Totally cute.

Of course, we were lucky to get the SAME ELEVATOR going back up. And when I walked inside, the fart was STILL THERE. So not only was Dylan's fart thick and potent, it had longevity. It smelled as though the atmosphere in the elevator were a vacuum and the fart had been perfectly preserved.

But here's the thing: I don't think Dylan knows he's the one making these farts. A little later, I was feeding him his dinner. We were sitting there at the dining room table, and he was feeding himself pieces of curry tofu and he let one rip. It burst out in a thick cloud of stench.

I turned to give him a strained look. And found that he was giving me a strained look. That's right, he was looking at me as though I had just farted. And then he lifted his little arm and pointed a finger at me. I started shaking my head vehemently, "NO baby, NO! It was you! IT WAS YOU!!!" And he started shaking his head, and continued to point!

So either my 10-month-old baby can't tell when he's farting or he knows how to fart and then blame it on his mother. I really hope he doesn't do this in public.

Uncle Luke is literal; awesome

We spent the weekend at Niagara Falls with Luke and Cathy. Luke and Cathy are beyond fantastic with Dylan, and I'm not just writing that because I know that Cathy reads my blog (hi Cathy). Dylan promptly loses his mind from excitement every time he sees them and not surprisingly - they have endless patience and attention for him, and we see them every week so he probably thinks we're related to them. Like maybe they're his other parents.

Cathy is a high school teacher and overachiever. The downside of this is that she enjoys being correct way too much, but the upside is that she is excellent at turning most interactions into learning opportunities for Dylan. Luke works at a nuclear power plant and is extremely smart. He also loves technology and is kind of a dork in that cool successful way.

There was a nice Christmas tree still up in the lobby of the hotel, and while I dumped my child off with Cathy and Luke to go poke around in the gift shop, they took him to see the Christmas tree.

This was the easy-to-understand lesson that Cathy gave:

Cathy: Look Dylan! Look at the tree. This is an acorn. A-CORN.

Dylan: (pointing) Da.

Cathy: What's this Dylan? It's a cranberry. CRAN-BERRY.

Dylan: (pointing) Da.

Then Luke joined in to impart some knowledge of his own:

Luke: Hey Dylan, look at this (points to LED Christmas light). LIGHT E-MITT-ING DI-ODE.

Cathy: Okay, lesson's over.

Oh no.

Happy Holidays everybody!! It's the day after New Year. Our Christmas celebrations went off normal - lots of family and not enough sleep. Dylan was spoiled completely rotten and now we're trying to find places in the condo for all his prezzies.

Earlier this week our halfie environmentalist accountant friend Rob came from Ottawa to visit with his new wife Amanda. Amanda is great because she openly talks about poo and other bodily secretions, as well as all gooey things related to pregnancy and childbirth. They are the most excited out of anyone I've ever known to procreate. She's been charting her cycles "for fun" and playing with her vag goo for a few weeks lately to try to learn when and how her body responds when it is ovulating. We talked about these things over dinner, as well as a few VERY revealing private stories regarding stomach flu and all that comes with it. Suffice it to say, Rob loves Amanda very very much and has proved it beyond any shred of real or imagined doubt. Good on ya, Rob.

In return, I had very few stories to offer up. All my "scandalous" and "embarrassing" stories had already been told and rehashed several times. There's only so many times that Eric can puke in my mouth. I felt very inadequate. I mentioned how I once popped Eric's freak-occurance butt-zit. But Amanda had popped a zit Rob had on the underside of his thigh, so it was almost the same thing. Sad times for attention-hungry Carol.

That night, my body decided to give me some more ammunition. It wanted to help me out and get me back in the game. We were up late playing board games before Rob and Amanda left, and it took us a little while to get to bed. By the time we fell asleep we were completely exhausted and slept the sleep of the nearly dead. In my dreams, I did many things including going to Costco with my mother and playing with Dylan. Several times, I dreamt I went to the kitchen to pee in the dishwasher. During one of those dream trips, I peed for a long time. There was a lot of pee going into that dishwasher, I couldn't stop.

I woke up and I had wet the bed.

I PEED THE BED.

My pants were hot and sopping wet, clinging to my ass. The sheets were soaked. I, a grown woman, a mother of one, a practitioner of good personal hygiene, had lost control of my bladder and released its contents in my sleep.

I woke Eric up and he changed the sheets while I got in the shower to clean off my peed-on body.

It's so embarrassing. Happy New Year everyone.