Alright I’ll give you scavengers a meaty update. It’s about time, right?
Well, we finally gave Cade a much needed haircut. We bribed him by telling him that right after the haircut, we’d take him to the store to buy a Thomas the Tank Engine. So he readily agreed. So I sat him on my lap, and Bran got the razor/shaver thingy ready. As soon as he turned it on the kid started to howl. I had NO IDEA that getting into a wrestling match with a 35 lb toddler could be so evenly matched. Seriously. C was yowling so loud that my dad turned the volume on the TV up to level 64 to hear The O'Reilly Factor (That’s LOUD. Seriously try it on your TV.) and my mom was talking to my aunt on the phone and she thought that we were dealing with a home invasion or something. I had to keep reminding him he was getting a toy out of this, but his memory span was SHORT and so I just started repeating it over and over, YOU’RE GOING TO GET A TRAIN THAT’S AWESOME BE BRAVE YOU’RE GOING TO GET A TRAIN THAT’S AWESOME BE BRAVE. So he looks better, but it’s still a tad uneven. He kind of looks like one of the Boxcar Children, but slightly better dressed. Sigh. I seriously don’t know what to do with the kid. Next time he needs a haircut we may need to put him under sedation; it’s awful. But now that he’s got his new choo choo he’s fine.
We’re taking him to Primary Children’s today to get a test done on his kidneys. His kidney infection just isn’t going away, even after two rounds of antibiotics, so they’re concerned there might be something else going on. Between the haircut, all the doctor’s visits and tests, and now this test today, he’s amassing quite the collection of trains. (News flash: bribery works AND wards off fear!) Seriously there’s like 17 trains snaking all over our house with a massive train track that’s pretty close to the size of my uterus winding around everywhere. It’s hard to not step on, and every time I do, I get a warning from Cade, “Mom get OFF my track!” The cats love to lay on it I swear because they know it bugs him. He’ll drive his trains into their fat bellies over and over while he says (quite menacingly) "Bobbi (or Hairy) get OFF my track!" And they just look at him blandly, as if they’re saying, “Yeah, MAKE me move, kid.” (And he can’t. They weight more than he does.) Silly tike. So anyway keep him in your prayers or thoughts or whatever that everything is okay. Mama's worried.
Therapy stuff is moving along, I suppose. I have the toughest treatment team, like, EVER, and I will be the first to admit that had I known they were going to open up a can of whoop ass on me every week, I honestly wouldn’t have started seeing them. (I’m a coward.) The Briester is not used to being pushed this hard unless I am in inpatient. I know it’s good for me, definitely, but if sure doesn’t make things any easier. My D raised my mealplan because my needs have gone up or whatever since I’m now in my 2nd trimester, and I’ve got like this hardcore plan that involves not being able to eat alone “for accountability” ‘n stuff, and I will say that I am not used to this. I haven’t had to have people stare over me while I eat since I was 1) a minor, under my parent’s dominion and/or 2) in inpatient treatment, under my therapist’s dominion. So this is all definitely involving eating a giant piece of humble pie, which really, let’s be honest, NEVER tastes good. To me, it kind of tastes like Rhubarb Pie. Shivers.
Tummy is getting bigger; definitely even bigger since I posted that last pic of me where my boobs looked good but I still looked sub-par next to the model. I will post a pic soon. Because I’m sure you ALL LOVE to see it, ha. (I'm not even sure at this point if I'm talking about my boobs OR my bump. Whatevs.)
Does anyone wanna hang out? Man, between having my BFF back in treatment, and my mom in Europe for a month, I have like no friends or anything to do. We should play.
Okay, best be off soon to take the little man to the hospital for those tests. Wish us luck!!