It's only Tuesday, but this has been the longest week ever.

Sunday, I came down with mastitis. For those of you unfamiliar (and how lucky you are) it's an infection. Of your boob.

And it makes you soooooo sick. I woke up Sunday evening shaking like a crackhead, demanding Shane turn down the ac, and took the hottest shower ever (I'm not convinced I turned the cold on at all, and am quite shocked that I don't have 3rd degree burns, honestly) which still felt like the Arctic.

People in igloos were shaking less than me, for serious.

And I looked awful. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and I seriously looked like I was on something. I was pale, with huge dark circles under my eyes. Also, since my fever induced delirium made me forget to actually wash my hair (instead, I conditioned it, twice) I had the stringiest mop of awful on my head ever.

Then I added to my "homeless woman on crack" look by layering no fewer than three shirts, two pairs of pants, and fuzzy socks...none of which matched, btw. And I don't mean like, pj mismatched. I mean, like, glaringly different colors and patterns combined to form something so WTF that even people of WalMart wouldn't have bought it as a serious fashion choice.

Of course, I felt like death, so I couldn't have cared less.

When I returned to bed, I moaned something incoherent at Shane which he (rightly) took as me begging him to hold onto me, so I could steal his body heat and stop shaking. During this, I also kept tearfully apologizing that I was inconveniencing him on his birthday (it was after midnight and thus his 34th birthday. But, really, who doesn't love to have sleep interrupted on their birthday to take care of their sick fiancee? It's the American dream.)

Oh, and I forgot to mention that my right breast was swollen to 2x the normal size and anytime anything touched it, I almost screamed.

Fun fact: it took my sickly self TWO HOURS to remember that ibuprofen existed and take some. Good times.

I woke up the next morning drenched in sweat (who knew dressing for the North Pole in 77 degree weather was a bad plan?) but better enough to go to my first day of work. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond her control, my trainer was almost a half hour late. So I sat in a chair, having no clue what to do, and waited.

The actual work part was pretty good, and I stayed unsick enough to handle it.

Then I went to the doctor.

First, I waited 45 minutes beyond my scheduled time for anyone to see me. By this time, I felt awful again, and had, of course, forgotten all pain medicine at home. Good times. Oh, and while I was in the waiting room, there was also a woman there who kept spitting chunks of godknowswhat into a plastic pink thing in her lap.

Ten minutes before we're ready to go in, Keira lets out a HUGE fart. Suddenly, I feel something wet on my thighs. What the...? I looked down, and sure enough, my child had pooped so much that it had outleaked her diaper and gotten ALL over me. When this happened, I was holding her on my lap, so this ended up creating, after clean up, a huge wet spot right on my crotch. Fabulous.

I finally procured antibiotics and went home, where I pretty much decided that I didn't give a damn about anything. When Shane came home, I took to my bed with Keira and let him fend for himself and Rhi. I'm sure this pleased him greatly, as it was, again, his birthday. No cake or ice cream or gifts here. :/

Today wasn't as bad - mostly just hot and I forgot my debit card at home and couldn't go to the store to get some stuff - but it still feels like the longest week ever. Probably partially because I still don't quite feel 100% yet (although so much better than yesterday.) And also partially because if I get sick, everything goes to hell around here. There was a mess of dirty dishes, Rhiannon had taken out every toy she owns and threw them all over...ugh.

Speaking of which, tonight I told Rhi to clean up her toys. She didn't want to; she'd start, then stop and do something else. I probably asked her 4 times or so, and Shane asked her a few times, too. So I told her that I was cleaning the kitchen and that when I was done, if she hadn't picked up her toys, I was going to throw them away. You know what that brat said? Oh so casually, she said, "Ok, Mommy, throw them out. I want you to." Are you kidding me? How am I even supposed to get through to this kid? It's making my nuts, because she's three. She helps me wash dishes and mop and stuff - because she thinks it's fun - she damn sure can pick up her toys. She just doesn't want to, and I can't figure out a way to get her to. I've tried making it a game, I've tried asking, I've yelled, I've thrown away toys. Nothing bothers her! Infuriating. If any of you has any suggestions, please...I'm lost here.

Ugh. I'd better get off the internet and do something productive, like shower and lay out clothes for tomorrow. Goodnight, blog readers.

OH! I switched up some stuff here, and you can click little adjectives about my blog at the bottom if you don't want to actually comment, or if you think I'm totally profound or something (yeah right) you can share it. I also posted my blogroll for you all to see, because I follow some awesome people. :)

Injustice

I'm pretty disheartened today.

I read a story earlier about a couple. Both were blind. They had, a day after I had Keira, a lovely little girl. The mom got to "see" her baby emerge by feeling her crowning, and was so ecstatic to hear her newborn daughter's first whimpers and cries. The mom and dad were overjoyed by their new daughter, and the mom immediately tried to breastfeed her. In doing so, she accidentally covered her daughter's nostrils with part of her breast.

Now, as anyone who has larger breasts knows, this happens. You learn to adjust. It's part of mastering breastfeeding.

The nurse who saw it didn't think so, though.

Instead of helping the mom, she notated in her file that the "child was without proper custody, support, or care due to both parents being blind."

When their daughter was 2 years old, she was taken away from her parents and placed into foster care. The parents were only allowed to see their child 2-3 times a week under the supervision of a foster parent. For 57 days.

Imagine, if you will, having your newborn whisked away. Having your beautiful baby taken from you before you can have the time to bond with her. Not being able to smell her babyness, or kiss her, or tend to her cries. For 57 days. Because someone has deemed you unfit without any allegations of abuse or neglect or anything.

That, my readers, is criminal.

This happened in my state, the state of Missouri. The state in which I frequently see 2-3 year old children riding in the front seat of cars, not only not in carseats, but not in seatbelts. The state in which I - daily - see people leave their children unattended in cars - even now, in the summer, during excessive heat warnings - while they go into stores, gas stations, or what have you. For sometimes 10-15 minutes at a time. I have seen people hit their children with belts in public places and seen others cheering them on. I know someone whose children are with an abusive parent who regularly flouts the court dictated rules, whose children are terrified to be with them, but are still entrusted to their care.

Yet, the state never seems to intervene on those.

However, these two blind people? Their daughter was removed from my home. When Rhiannon wasn't gaining weight "properly," Mike and I were investigated. And there are a billion other cases like that - places where the state decides to step in unnecessarily.

It's fucked up.

I don't understand the way the system works. I just don't get it. It goes against the whole truth and justice thing that I've always believed in.

You can read the story of the state of Missouri's grievous error here. Thankfully, she is back together with her parents now, where she belongs. But I can't help but wonder how many more parents are suffering away from their children, or being looked at harshly, while the actual bad parents who could use the intervention, slip through the system.

Guess Who's Gainfully Employed?

Shane is.

But, also, me! Hooray! I'm pretty super excited about it. I'm going to be helping moms with breastfeeding, which is something I feel very strongly about. I know that I could never have succeeded in nursing Rhiannon without all the amazing support that I had, so hopefully I'll be able to pay it forward on that.

I did not, however, get the pecan pie blizzard that I wanted. Because Shane FORGOT TO GET IT. Which makes him the worst fiance of the year in the Buying Ice Cream Olympics. Not even a bronze medal for you, Shane!

Now, you might be thinking, "But, Star...aren't you trying to lose weight?" Indeed I am. But everyone knows celebration ice cream doesn't actually contain calories. It's written in the tomes of history. Or I just made it up. But one of those for sure.

Also, I am getting p90x. So expect a blog entry saying I've broken something on my body about 2 days after that occurs. ;P Seriously, though, I will put my impressions of it on my other blog so if you are considering getting it, watch for that.

Well, that about wraps it up, mostly because I'm playing I Spy with Rhi and I keep looking for things on the screen on accident and/or wanting you to find the surfer's hair. Ahh, the joys of 3 year olds. :)

Happy

I am not a materialistic chick.

I can happily live in small places, not have a lot of money, buy things at thrift stores and drive older cars. Doesn't phase me. I've always figured that *who* I am with is more important than *where* I am or *what* I have.

But this trailer has been all nine circles of my personal hell.

We have been inflicted with bugs of all kind, mice, leaking windows, rotting floors, busted pipes...it's been, quite frankly, awful.

All of that is coming to an end, though.

Thanks to our wonderful family giving us a loan, we are getting a much much much nicer, better trailer. We plan to use this one as storage and live in that one this winter and while we build a house next spring.

I am the most excited that I have ever been. Seriously, I'm excited about lame stuff like steam cleaning my rugs at the new place and stuff. It's insane.

Annnnd, we won't all be sharing a bedroom anymore! Yes, you read right - up until now, all four of us have been in one room. While Keira will still room in with us - even if we stop co-sleeping, it's just easier that way - Rhiannon will have her very own room. Which means her 8 million toys will have their own home, too, lol.

We have a final walkthrough of the new place tomorrow to make sure that everything is up to par. And if it is, hopefully, next week or so, we'll be in the new place. Squeeeee!

I want to thank not only the family, who have been freaking incredible, but also a few friends who have done so much to make us have a more comfortable experience here. Atina, Tara, and Jessica - thank you sooooo much. You guys are amazing. Jessica, even though my lazy ass fiance hasn't gotten that fan yet, you are incredible for offering it. One of these years, he'll remember, haha. And Atina - I swear, every time I've needed help with something, you've offered it up like we were family, and it means soooo much to me. Tara, you're the same way. You guys are so giving and wonderful, and when I have money again, I am taking you all out to dinner.

Anyways, fingers crossed tomorrow goes well, and one more YAY!!!!! for the road. :)

Sometimes, people are douchebags.

I'm 28. You'd think that would have sunken in by now. Like, I'd be adequately jaded against this shit already. But somehow I forget it, over and over.

And then I get really depressed when I remember it.

Maybe it's me. Maybe I have too lofty of an idea of how people shouldn't fucking suck.

Rhiannon is on this kick lately where she keeps telling me to not let monsters get her. And she makes us check under the beds and stuff, and holds onto me. And it's 20% fear, 80% playacting. So I tell her every night how there are no monsters and blah blah blah.

But I'm a liar, because there *are* monsters. They don't have fangs or claws or anything. But they exist. And some day, she'll meet one.

Hopefully, it won't be the really, really awful kind - the abusers or the killers or the rapists or whatever. But there are others. There are people who lie and cheat and fuck up people's lives out of some stupid reason that is known only to them. There are people who pretend to be friends who sell you out because they somehow think that that's the fair thing to do. Because they are totally incapable of taking a goddamned stance on anything that doesn't involve their own life, even though they expect that stance from their friends. There are people who ignore injustices and people who perpetrate them and they surround us. Because some people are just douchebags.

I've always been one of those people who totally believes that bad people get theirs in the end and karma and so on. But lately it's been pretty hard to buy that, since no one seems to get comeuppances and the best people I know seem to get systematically screwed.

*sigh*

My optimism is at an all time low today. Maybe I should look up pictures of baby kittens or wonderful heartwarming crap to feel better. Or maybe I'll just take Keira to bed with me pretty soon and sleep it off. Perhaps pessimism is like drunkenness that way.

I wish I could write more and give more details to just get all this shit out and stop letting it weigh on me, but I can't even do that, as there could be real ramifications if I did and the wrong people happened upon my blog. Suck.

Bed it is then. And maybe the rest of that fair trade chocolate bar I've been saving. Mmmm hazelnut.

What a long strange trip it's been...

I never thought I'd be a crunchy mom.

Hell, for a long time, I didn't think I'd be a mom at all. Growing up, kids never really figured into my plans. I kind of assumed maybe I'd get married or something, but kids were...meh.

And then my sister had kids. And they were cute and stuff. But I still didn't, you know, want any. Maybe if I was 30 or something. But when you had kids, you had to take care of crying, pooping babies and bratty two year olds. Really, there was little appeal. At least when I was the aunt, if they were bad, someone else got to deal with them. I could leave.

Then Mike and I got together. And suddenly, I wanted a baby. I have no idea why. It's not like there was some amazing moment where I held a baby and my heart exploded with longing. Hell, to this day, I don't like to hold other people's babies.

It took Mike and I a trillion years to conceive Rhi. When I found out I was pregnant, I was over the moon. I had all these plans. I was going to formula feed. I'd pop the kid in a daycare at 6 weeks, have a career, do it all. I planned baby rooms. I told my new ob I wanted an epidural, like, instantly - women who were drug free were fucking crazy.

I have this tendency, though, to research things, almost to the point of compulsion. Also, I was on maternity leave and I had the internet. It was better than soaps. So I started reading.

The first to fall was formula feeding. I read the benefits of breastfeeding, and I wanted to do that for my baby. I was blown away by how amazing the milk created by the human body was. And when I went out in public, I could totally pump beforehand, so I didn't have to publicly nurse.

When I felt Rhi move for the first time, I had this thought out of nowhere that I could never, ever, ever leave her at a daycare at 6 weeks. This tiny little thing in my stomach needed to stay with me. She needed me. And I needed to be with her. So I told Mike I wasn't going back to work right away after I had her. Luckily, he was supportive and did not think I had lost my mind.

Then I found some articles on something called HypnoBirth. To make this short, it's a drug-free birthing method. So I decided to try that. (I won't lie - part of my urge to try that came from an intense dislike of the idea of a catheter.)

Oh, and the bedroom? It was painted, decorated, ready. She never slept in it. Rhi's crib was right next to my bed. Right until the day we moved. Quite simply, I couldn't imagine her so far away.

Then, I got crunchier.

I nursed in public all the time, and still do. Pumps suck. Pumping is boring, and hard; bottles have to be washed and warmed; and I'm lazy. Much easier to pop out my boob than do Bottle Wars with a baby. And figuring out exactly how much a baby will want to eat at a certain time seemingly never worked for me.

At some point post Rhi's birth (where I distinctly remember saying, "If she comes out as a boy, we want her circumcised") and pre-Keira's conception, I decided that circumcision was pretty silly. There was no real point, it could be harmful...it was pretty much a cosmetic procedure. If I had a boy, and they wanted it done later, they could go for it. But since I couldn't undo getting it done, I decided it wasn't my decision to make.

And now...Keira is cloth diapered (usually,) she co-sleeps, I plan to make her baby food, we do a lot of babywearing (something I never quite got the hang of with Rhi.) I've also started buying more local and organic foods, we're going to build our green, dream home...

The me from my early twenties would be horrified, lol.

Stay at home mom

I'm officially one. I resigned from my job today, which was kind of nerve-wracking.

I did apply for, and interview for, another job about a week ago. It is one where I'd get to bring Keira, though, for awhile and I won't know about it for a couple of weeks.

I'm nervous, because if I don't get this job, I've just pulled out the rug on me making any money for awhile.

However, I could never work at the preschool and go to college. It's just impossible. And with Shane's recent upgrade in jobs, no income from me is more workable than ever. And we've been doing on one income since May, so...

Still scary, though.

This new job would be perfect - I could even do it while doing school, so that would rock. I'm crossing my fingers times a million.