Time for a diaper report! We went through 184 diapers this month, if I include what I estimate we’ll use for the rest of today. Henry wears size 1 diapers now, which are sold 56 diapers in a package for $5.75 (we use the Target brand). That’s 10.27 cents per diaper, and we went through 184, so that’s $18.90 to put him in disposable diapers for a month between the ages of 1 month and 2 months old.

It’s less expensive than last month, because last month he wore the newborn size, and the newborn diapers are more expensive per diaper.

Is he TWO MONTHS OLD? Yikes.

Will no one return this child’s stolen eyebrows?

Day One of the Couch to 5K running program, and I am off to a good start. It’s three days a week, so you wouldn’t HAVE to start this very day, but I did and I’m glad because it’s nicer to have six days to do two more days of exercise than having six days to do three more. Um, duh. So, here is my report:

Good: I did it, rather than finking out before even doing it one single time, which is what I’d feared might happen.

Bad: The whole “doing it” part.

Good: It was a good idea to bring Rob and William, because it was more like doing a difficult game: “Okay, now we run for 60 seconds! Okay, now walk for 90!” I think if I’d gone out by myself, I would have turned around after a few minutes and said forget this crap.

Bad: Not only did I have to keep my own motivation up, I had to keep THEIRS up. “Come on, you can do it! Come on, keep running!”

Bad: Also, they kept wanting to TALK when I was working on DYING. “How many more seconds?” they’d ask again and again during the minute-long runnings, while I was wondering if I should be trying to draw another breath or just lying down and skipping the whole breathing thing entirely. And then Rob would want to start complicated conversations: “How many calories do we eat in a day? And how many calories does this burn? So how many more do I have to eat when I run like this? And what percentage of…” Me: “Let’s … *gasp* … talk … *gag* … later … *pant pant*”

Good: The way Rob and William struggled and complained tells me they could really use the exercise too.

Bad: Aesthetic considerations aside, can it really be good for me to JIGGLE that much?

Bad: I mean seriously, my FAT hurts more than my muscles do.

Good: Doing it even ONE TIME makes me feel like I’m starting on the road to better health.

Bad: The road to health sucks, and is full of alligators and mud and burrs and taxes and dog poop.

Good: After running, I no longer felt like eating the Hershey bar that was waiting for me.

Bad: Nor did I feel like continuing to live. And when the will to live returned, so did the will to eat the Hershey bar.

Good: I shower in the evenings usually anyway, so I showered early (while Paul had to take care of the kids) instead of at my usual time (when it cuts into my kid-free evening).

Bad: Even after the cool refreshing shower, I still felt–and looked–as if something had stepped on me.

Good: With just one session of running, I have learned things about myself and about my body.

Bad: Those things are that I hate exercise, that I hate the WHOLE EXERCISE THING—the changing in and out of clothes, the sweating, the need to shower afterward, the stretching, the warming up and cooling down, ALL of it. Hate! it!

So, how about you? Did anyone do it today? It seems as if we ought to keep a tally or something: people who have done one session, people who have done two sessions—I won’t bother to continue that sentence until we know if we even need to go on.

I filled my prescription for the mini-pill, so the experiment starts tomorrow. You’ll have to let me know if I seem crazier or crabbier than usual.

Perhaps you are wondering, “Why the rush to fill it? Why the very first Sunday after seeing the OB?” Well, when Paul was headed for the grocery store, I asked him to bring me a pint of Dove “Give in to Mint” ice cream if it was still on sale–and he came home with four pints.

So. Hey. Do you realize that tomorrow is the first day of the first week of the running program we’re supposedly doing? I feel partly excited (something new! maybe slimming and energizing!), and partly heavy with dread (maybe unpleasant and exhausting! maybe yet another failure in the quest for health and fitness!).

The shopping part is fun, though. I have some nearly new all-purpose exercise shoes from the last time I kidded myself that I was going to exercise and I’m going to start off with those–but then if I do this for “awhile” (two weeks? three? a month?) I’ll buy some running shoes. But Rob and William had only slip-on shoes, so they needed something they could run in, and they need that for the new school year anyway. Today we went to Target (*choir of angels sound effect*) and I found a pair for Rob at 50% off and a pair for William at 75% off. “Woo,” and also: “hoo.”

Also, we bought a pedometer. We don’t NEED one, but….well, it’s a fun toy. And Rob learned that “10,000 Steps A Day” thing at school, so he is wildly enthusiastic about it and asked if he could have his own pedometer as a Christmas present, and then William asked if he could have one for Christmas too. That is a pitiful request. If this one seems good (it was $6-something, and maybe it’ll be craptastic and we’ll need one that costs a little more than that), I’m going to buy one for each of them.

I can already tell that this particular pedometer is not going to work for finding out how many steps I walk in a typical day back and forth between the recliner and the brownies: at around 200 steps I sat down for awhile, and when I got up it was over 300. I thought it was an anomaly, but then I went down to cycle the laundry, and when I looked again afterward it was over 500. Hmm.

I’ve been thinking about Devan, whose husband is in trouble right now for seeing dishes in the sink and asking her, “What did you DO all day?” Devan has a toddler and a newborn. Devan’s husband still has all his parts attached, but it may be just a matter of time.

What I’VE been doing all day is thinking about that question. I think of it as living on the list of questions and comments that are never under any circumstances okay to use. It doesn’t seem as if we would have to come out and say that these were Forbidden; it seems like at this point it would be understood by everyone in the entire human race that these are the things you say right before rotten produce starts flying through the air toward your face. And yet no.

So for the sake of those who are still struggling with this, claiming angrily not to be mind-readers, I think we should compose a cheat sheet: a list of all the things no one should ever, ever say. I’ve made a start on it:

1. What did you DO all day?
2. I work all day.
3. Is that on your diet?
4. Have you been putting on weight?
5. Sure, you could stand to lose a few pounds.
6. Is that what you’re wearing?
7. This isn’t rocket science.
8. I hope we can still be friends.
9. I love you, I’m just not “in love” with you.
10. I have a new co-worker—younger than us, but she’s already had a highly successful career as a porn star! Smart, too! We talked for hours today about [insert boring work problem here] and she was so interested and had such great ideas!

This morning had a moment so madhouse, I wasn’t sure I could pull through it without crying or screaming. The twins were in the tub, and Henry started crying and I realized it was time to nurse him, so I started taking the twins out. It’s a little tricky to wrangle them both out by myself, but it’s possible. Henry was really working himself up, so I worked fast getting the twins dressed. Then I picked up Henry—and my hand sent me an urgent message that I was not holding a dry, clean baby. He had blown completely through his diaper and outfit, and was sitting in a puddle in his new bouncy seat. And he was screaming so hard, and the bathroom still had pjs and wet towels and bath toys all over it, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to clean that up or stain-treat Henry’s clothes before he needed to nurse, and I was worried the twins were going to get into the mess on the bouncy seat while I was cleaning up a screaming Henry, and I was still unshowered and wearing my baggy sloppy pajamas which had (1) milk, (2) bath water, and now (3) diaper on them. Not a good moment, is what I’m saying.

Part of my crisis this morning was that the house seemed to have crossed a subtle line between its usual Friendly Squalor and a new state of Unacceptable Horror. In fact, after I decided to see what I could do to improve things, I wandered hopelessly from room to room, near tears, thinking it wasn’t even possible to get started. And my mother-in-law is supposedly visiting in October (this is Day 26 of her not telling us she’s coming).

But! I got a grip. And I started with the kitchen table, which I have cleaned before on this blog. It doesn’t stay clean because we don’t eat at it and it’s such a handy place to put things. This must change. For one thing, we need to start eating at it. For another thing, I can’t stand it the way it is.

Here’s the before:

And here’s the after:

Hi, table! Long time no etc.!

The tablecloth was ripped in several places, so I threw it out.

Elizabeth in her Never Crabby shirt

Shelly’s Peanut
Jen’s L #1
Jen’s L #2< Lori’s Macy
Staci’s Emma
Marie’s Marin
Tessie’s AD

Did I miss your girl? Sorry—tell me again and I’ll add her!

So—yesterday’s post. What I meant to do was vent a little about how hard it is to keep my mouth shut in situations where it would be stupid for me to talk. What I did instead was:

1. Imply that one of you wrote a blog post that pissed me off
2. and that probably you do that all the time
3. and that maybe all the other commenters don’t like you either.
4. Imply that I don’t think blogs should be about controversial topics
5. and that I think people shouldn’t discuss things unless they agree
6. and that what you wrote about _______ was way too controversial.
7. Imply that we should all go around kissing up to each other all the time
8. and no one should ever say anything that isn’t positive
9. and that we should all be icky-sweet and no one should say anything bitchy or strong.
10. Imply that all conflict is bad
11. and that pleasant, intellectual debate between consenting adults is also bad
12. and that in a perfect world, all of us would act and think identically.
13. Imply that I never give my 2 cents’ worth on other people’s blogs
14. and that my silence means I disagree
15. and I’m quietly thinking bad things about you but you’ll never know because I won’t say it.
16. Imply that I don’t want you to give your 2 cents’ worth on my blog
17. and that if you have in the past, you’ve totally hurt my feelings and pissed me off
18. and that if you do it ever again I won’t be your best friend anymore.

I is such a awesome communicator! I rocks!

I do often comment if I disagree with something, and I want you to comment even if you’re not saying, “You’re totally right! I totally agree! Also, I like your shoes!” I think we can disagree and still be friendly. Good thing, too, since there are SO MANY THINGS to disagree about! Including my shoes.

There are some topics, though, that I don’t want to talk about anymore, and that’s generally when I choose my voluntary dose of STFU. The blog setting wouldn’t be right for me anyway: I’m a person who typically leaves a comment and doesn’t come back to see who commented after me, so it’s not a good place for me to get involved in a heavy debate.

Also–and this is harder to describe–there are certain times when I can FEEL that my reaction is not good and that I shouldn’t talk, that it would not be RIGHT for me to talk. Do you know what I mean? Because I’ve spent about 24 hours trying to think of how to put it, and that’s the best I’ve got. It’s just a FEELING that tells me I should shut up.

But, silly dears, I was not talking about any of YOU. You are all sweeties, and I’m sure I agree with every word you say. Also, I like your shoes.

It is so difficult to voluntarily take a dose of STFU. In general, my feeling is that if I don’t like what I’m reading on a blog, I should stop reading the blog rather than repeatedly venting my dislike in the comment section. I’m not chained to my computer, eyelids pried open while someone else chooses my reading matter: if I don’t like it, I should go away. But oh, sometimes it is so difficult.

There are so many hot issues (religion! politics! parenting!), so many things that make me feel like fighting. I can tell they make other people feel like fighting, too, because of all the comment sections that boil up and over the edge. What’s amazing is that any of us get along at all.

I read awhile back that humans are naturally contentious–that if peace were handed to us on a platter, we wouldn’t be able to accept it even if we wanted to. Our natural state is to live together in communities, and to fight constantly within that community and also with other communities. My experience with human nature backs this up so far.

This is discouraging. I think I’ll take another dose.

So it sounds to me like we pretty much all agree that my OB is hoping to get another big fat c-section fee out of me by telling me I’m safe for at least 12 weeks. I got a prescription for the mini-pill, which I’m going to try. I say “try” because from what I’ve read, a lot of women find it gives them a fast flying kick into the land of crazy–but I’m hoping I luck out and it doesn’t happen to me. We’ll see. I like how I have to wait four weeks before it renders me safe–and the four weeks doesn’t start until I actually fill the prescription, which, who knows when I’ll get to the store next, or if I’ll remember to fill it while I’m there?

Researchers need to do better on this birth control thing. Right now there are four kinds:

1. Options used in the heat of the moment.
2. Options used constantly, medicating the woman even when there isn’t a need for it.
3. Options in which something that looks like a sharp metal insect takes up residence in the woman’s uterus.
4. Options in which someone gets a crucial reproductive organ snipped.

All the options suck. Heat-of-the-moment options are messy and yucky and can cause allergic reactions, and it is difficult to make sensible birth control decisions during the time they need to be made. Constant-medication options can affect a woman’s mood, weight, and–hello, helpful!–sex drive, not to mention the crazy gland. Metal-in-the-uterus options make me uncomfortable just thinking about them. Permanent options make me sad just thinking about them.

Obviously it would be nice if, for the hot new birth control option, men could take a turn dealing with the expense and side effects, but I understand researchers are FAR too busy working to increase men’s sex drive and hair growth.