The MiL & All the Sickness, Part 2

Although she admitted to no wrong-doing of exposing my baby to sickness, the MiL informed me earlier today that the sick people may return to the MiLHouse at 4:00PM today.

"I will pick up Grace at 3:30." I said. And that was that.

Promptly at 3:30, I put my work on "Pause" and I went over to pick up Grace.

It was then and there that I learned that the mysterious sickness is no longer a mystery. The doctor proclaimed that my sister-in-law and two of her boys have strep throat.


Imagine me, an admitted germaphobe with a 3 month old baby hearing those two words. I believe my head exploded into a gazillion pieces.


The MiL & All the Sickness

The MiL also keeps two of our preschool age nephews along with Grace. They love her, so normally it is not a problem.



My husband ate lunch at the MiL's house while I had errands to run. While he was there, his sister called. She had a sick child (she has three in total) and planned to bring him by. J immediately objected. Since Grace was a preemie, we have to be extra-careful about her immune system and exposing her to sickness.

"Oh, I'll keep him away. He'll be in the other room and they will not have any contact with each other."

I would have fled with my child in tow. But J is much more vulnerable. He does not question the MiL. He let her stay.

At 4:30, when J went to pick up Grace, he found not only a sick child, but also his sister - who by now was also sick - lying around at the MiL's too!

Objection! She should have called! Two sick people in the house! We would have picked her up!

If Grace gets sick, I plan to start a war.

Am I overreacting? Honestly I don't care. I would rather err on the side of caution.



As someone with family members who suffer from Alzheimer's, this story makes me sick. How can someone take advantage of another human being like this?


The MiL & the Bottle

The MiL keeps Grace during the day.

To understand the rest of this post, you need to know that the MiL is a strong, independent force of nature. The MiL is the boss of everyone that the MiL comes in contact with. As mere mortals, we are not allowed to question the MiL.

You should also know this - I love her, I really do. I rely on her sometimes, and she can be very helpful. I am also grateful that she keeps Grace. It's a nasty little web of a situation.

I spent a lot of time researching bottles. I read all my baby books. I talked to the doctors while Grace was in the NICU. I consulted online communities and informative websites. (You may think that I am crazy, but this is my beloved child and I do intend to put forth my best effort in making good decisions for her.) I looked at things like BPA and air flow systems. Then, J & I made an informed decision.

We tried the bottle of choice with Grace, and she liked it. So we bought more. We send a couple over to stay at the MiL's, so that she would have some on hand.

So, imagine my surprise when my little baby comes home today with a completely different bottle. A cheap one. One that does not do anything special about air flow. And, I am sure that it does not meet BPA standards. Okay, maybe it does. But that is not really my point anyway.

J does not think it's a big deal so I let it go. In the grand scheme of things? It probably is not a big deal. But for me, it is a much bigger issue. I made an informed choice, told the daytime caretaker of my child about that choice, provided supplies to support that choice and she ignored it.

If it was only this one thing I am sure that I could be a little more lenient. But alas, it is not. By giving Grace a certain type of pacifier during the day all the time (which was of course not the kind that she got from the hospital that I was giving her), Grace began to favor her kind. Then she informs me that Grace takes her kind better. Maybe J & I should use that kind too. Gee, thanks for the advice.

Stung. In the Face.

My exercise plan is not going so well. I am quickly losing all motivation to leave the house to force myself to get outside and take my daily walk during my lunch.

Cedar requires no motivation. If I do not take him to walk now, he will sit outside my window and just stare at me the whole time I am trying to enjoy my lunch hour. If I walk outside, he will bark at me profusely until I fill so sorry for him that I trek back inside to get his leash.

Now that the plants are in full bloom, the beginning of my walk is pleasant enough. The smell of honeysuckles fill the air. I see wildflowers on the edge of the road. Sometimes, I even catch a glimpse of an animal or two.

Sound nice, right?

Well, it's not. I have decided that I do not really enjoy being in nature all that much. I would much rather enjoy it from inside my house looking out the window.

Why? Well nature around here is mean. That's right. Mean.

Nature fools you into thinking that you want to take part. You feel as though you should run right outside in the beautiful sunlight and smell the flowers blooming all around. In my hometown? It's a trap. Those beautiful flowers are hiding an army of mosquitoes ready to attack. Those beautiful trees? Hiding ticks.

I know I sound paranoid, but my attitude comes strictly from experience. I hate bugs.

A few weeks ago, wasps were a huge problem. So, we had the area around our house sprayed for "solitary" wasps and spiders. It has been the best thing that we have done since we moved in. Before that, I was afraid to leave my front door. As soon as the door would open, the wasps would head straight towards my head.

The latest problem has been gnats. They gather in groups of 9,786 and fly directly underneath my glasses. Quite an annoyance. It has become a pain to go outside.

But, I did it anyway because I knew I should. I put Cedar on the leash and off we went.

We were to the point in the road where I turn around and walk back home, when WHAP.

Something slammed into my cheek. Right on the bone.

I thought that it was probably just a bug that flew into me. Bugs will do that. You know, because it is fun for them. I can be the tallest thing in a 10 foot radius, and they will still fly right into me.

I started to continue walking when I felt that my cheek was starting to swell.

I decided that I probably required first aid. I got out my phone and texted my husband. I immediately heard him start up the four-wheeler and barrel down the hill to get me, sweep me off my feet and chariot me away from all the nature back into the safe fortress that is my house. My hero.


Fun With Passports

Is it possible to get a passport in a small town? The answer is no. Don't even bother trying.

I found out that I may be asked to travel up to Canada at some point on business. Since I have never gotten a passport, I thought I should go ahead and start the process.

First of all, the passport forms that you can supposedly fill out online are a joke. Yesterday morning, I hit the link. Yesterday afternoon, it was still cranking. Give me a break. Has anyone ever done that successfully? If so, congratulations. You deserve a medal.

So today, I decide I'll just go to the post office and get the stupid application in person. I took my precious lunch hour to drive into town. I stood in line. And they do not do passports there. Here's a shocker. Their website lies.

Now after two wasted days, I still have not gotten any further into the passport process than before.

--- Update: Right after I submitted this entry, the form magically popped up and let me feel it out. Hmmm. Perhaps I should complain more. Apparently it yields results. ---


Pink Underwear

Things happen when you introduce the laundry of a three-month-old girl into that of two adults.

Pink things.

It was late, and I was tired. I know, I know. Excuses, excuses.

Somehow a hot pink onesie hid in the washer and slipped itself within the next load, which was of course - whites.

VoilĂ ! Pink underwear.

The fact that my underwear is pink is kind of funny. But, the fact that so are my husband's? Hilarious.


Poor Nana & Papa

My parents have been sick for three straight weeks now. They are going through immense Grace withdrawal.

I miss Grace like crazy during the day while she visits Grandma while I work. That's for a couple of hours. I cannot imagine weeks.

Things have changed for them since becoming first time grandparents. For the very first time when I told my Dad he should go to the doctor, he *gasp* did. Normally the conversation where I tell them to go to the doctor has to occur at least 487 times before they will break down and go.