Hit and run cold punch to blast Chicago
Chicago's delightfully mild April, which currently ranks fourth warmest in 135 years of records dating back to 1871 is facing a brief but potent setback. A slug of cold air barreling down icy Lake Michigan will drop Tuesday's temperatures more than 25(degrees) from Monday's balmy 73(degrees) high and even bring a threat of frost to inland areas early Wednesday. The chill will be brief, departing as quickly as it came with the mercury rebounding nearly 20(degrees) back to the middle 60s Wednesday. (Tom Skilling, Chicago Tribune)

Saturday was Jacob's first baseball game. I missed a lot of it because I was babysitting Danny, who was in A Mood, and handing out info sheets to other moms. One of the few scenes I caught:
    Our team was up at bat. Little N. shook her pigtails and hit the ball off the tee, and ran to first. The first base coach showed her how to lead off with one foot on the bag. Next kid comes up to bat, swings twice and hits the ball towards first base.... where Little N. reached out and attempted to catch the ball.

Later we went downtown to Wrigley Field for their garage sale. DH had wanted to purchase a brick from Wrigley, but when we got there and saw that they had old bench seats, he allowed that those were pretty cool, too. On our way to pick up our bench, I said how my brother might just die of jealousy, so DH went back and paid for another bench to send to him as a gift. (My bro bought us one of those Yuppie-Must-Have portable DVD players in January, which has gotten quite a lot of use ever since.) The pickers found us two really good samples -- each has a number still visible on top, with plenty of green paint still on it, and one even has a row number on the side as well. So that was cool.

That afternoon, I took Danny with me to work for a while. Unlike last time, he wanted to explore more of Mommy's Work, and didn't really want to just hold still and watch Wallace & Gromit shorts for two hours. I managed to keep him somewhat under control so I could get a few things done (especially good since the CIO's office is right next to where I'm working right now, and he came in while I was there). But I could tell things would get ugly so just after 4:30 we cleared out and headed to Costco.

I was washing the coffeepot while the kids examined their Costco pizza when Danny started projectile vomiting all over the kitchen. It started normally enough -- a funny-sounding cough that alerted me to snag the wastebasket and scream for DH -- but escalated until all we could do was stare in horrible amazment that such a copious amount of vile sludge could come out of such a little guy. DH plunked Danny up and brought him to the bathroom to strip him down and bathe him. I told Jacob he could take his dinner into another room.

A few minutes later, DH called to me that Danny didn't look good. He had striae of red across his neck and face, and was wheezing a bit. So I bundled him up and took him to the ER. We had to wait for a while because a rush of people had apparently beat us to the punch, but everyone was really nice. Danny was in a pretty good mood for someone who'd thrown up so damned much. I asked him every five minutes if his throat felt itchy. All he wanted was a drink, but the nurse said we couldn't give him anything until the doc okayed it.

There is a big aquarium at the Evanston ER, with the biggest black angelfish I've ever seen. I had a little MagnaDoodle with me for Danny, who demanded I draw the Big Giant Fish for him. He then erased each effort and told me to make it BIGGER! When I pointed out how I couldn't make the drawing bigger than the MagnaDoodle, he changed tactics and commanded that I write "the numbers" for Big Giant Fish. So I wrote
   BIG
    & nbsp;  GIANT
    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   FISH
on the MagnaDoodle. He took it carefully from me and held it up to the aquarium "This is you," Danny said to the fish. "This your name!"

After I drew "LOTS OF LITTLE FISH" for Danny a few times, a nurse finally called his name and brought us back to what would be his cubicle for the next few hours. She and I got Danny settled into the hospital bed in his little-kid johnny with his no-sew Cubs blanket over his legs. Then she put a very cool monitor on his finger that was like a band-aid with a red light on it. The lead went to the vital signs monitor -- so he didn't have to be IV'd or anything, which pleased me enormously.

The doc came in and examined Danny, listening to him breathe and checking his hives. He prescribed Benadryl and Prednisone, followed by popsicles, and watching him for a while to make sure he didn't have a recurrence. Apparently, the fact that I'd given Danny Benadryl at like 3:30 for his allergy-sounding cough had really helped to keep this reaction fairly low-key.

Danny hated the medicine but handled it pretty well, and accepted his grape popsicle joyously. "It's black!" he said to me, and began slurping it.

"Is it yummy?" I asked.

"Mmmm," he said. "Juicy!"

After a while, he sat peacefully with one hand clutching my arm and the other holding his popsicle. He insisted on sharing a little with me until I got him to finally keep it for himself. When he finished, I mopped him up with damp paper towels. He leaned back on the raised bed and said "Mommy?"

"Yes, Puppy?"

"Thith bed is comfy."

To keep him occupied, I did "Monkeys Jumping On The Bed" on command as well as a rousing round of "Ma Na Ma Na." Around 9:30, we were released from the hospital with a scrip for Prednisone and instructions to bring him back if yada yada yada. I brought him home and plopped him into bed with me & DH, where he sucked on a few freezy pops before passing out on my chest.

The fun continued on Sunday morning, when I dragged an unwilling Jacob with me to see the allergist myself. I've never really gotten tested, so I did the whole thing -- 40 dots of commen allergens on my forearms, and another 12 of common food allergens on my upper arm. Even before the histamine control could develop, sample #1 turned bright red and swelled, splashing nasty itchy red flush across my arm. What was Sample #1, you ask? Cats. Yep. I'm allergic to my cats -- who sleep not only on my bed but often in my hair and on my chest. (I'm also allergic to dust, dust mites, trees and weeds.) Jacob was horrified, thinking we would immediately go home and throw the cats out. I promised him that was definitely not in my plan; I've lived with these cats for 10 years and I'm not going to stop now. I was given samples of Nasonex, Singulair, and some evil eyedrops that felt like boric acid.

I further tortured Jacob by shlepping him through Target before we headed home, where Danny was giving DH a hard time. I put on the new Wallace & Grommit movie (Curse of the Were-Rabbit!!), which Danny then insisted on watching three times in a row (while DH and Jacob watched the Cubs game in the bedroom). At one point, I actually fell asleep with Danny sitting on my ribcage. And was glad to do so. Can you blame me?

A quick rundown of last week:
Monday: first baseball practice. Total and utter chaos. Jacob loved every second of it.

Tuesday: Went to the dentist, who found a cavity underneath an old filling. Root canal may be required, followed by a cap or crown or hat or something. She also submitted my claim to get a dental implant to the insurance company. We expect them to deny it out of hand.

Wednesday: Shlepped downtown and got my band filled back up again by the dashing Dr. H., king of bariatric surgery. Went home and saw food everywhere I looked. Sipped water and teeny amounts of milk.

Thursday: Advised by boss that we're back on mandatory overtime. Attempted to keep sipping beverages but felt tighter and tighter. Took a test sip of chicken broth at lunchtime and bolted for the ladies' room, where I dry heaved for 15 minutes. Staggered back to the hallway where I'm working and attempted to feel human. Called the surgeon's office and asked that they unfill me a bit. They scheduled me for Friday. Went back to my hallway desk and felt myself getting increasingly short of breath. Called back and was told a bit later to come downtown immediately. By the time the surgical fellow arrived on site from over at the hospital, I was in the bathroom, dry heaving again, while the surgical center EMT stood outside the door. They unfilled me all the way once I could stand up again; a huge air pocket had developed below the band and pushed it up into my diaphragm.

Friday: Went to the doc and had my thyroid checked. Went back to work until 3:30, and raced back downtown for the third day in a row to have my band filled yet again.

Ahh, peace. If only for a fleeting moment. It's now 7:43 pm. The two elder boys are in their beds and quiet for now. I put them down just after Benjamin puked on my shoulder and passed out. Now I'm eating a bowl of grownup cheesy poofs while I recover from the last 90 minutes of chaos.

Tonight's bedtime chaos was slightly improved from last night, which found all three boys and me in tears at the same time. The highlight tonight was when, in the middle of verrrrry slooooowwwwly reading their bedtime story, Jacob and then Danny broke out into their own version of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame."

Take me out to the ballgame,
Take me out to the Cubs.
I don't know why there's an acrobat
I don't know why I'll never get back for it's
Loop-de-loop for the Cubbies,
If they don't win it's a name
For it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the
Oooold baaaall gaaaame!

It's probably the work hangover I have from my project going live 36 hours ago, but I'm kind of a dishrag. A cranky, cranky, petulant dishrag. Everything is just getting on my last fucking nerve lately. I logged 53 billable hours on my project last week. I put up with way too many politics while my boss was out of town and unable to defend me. I'm. So. Fucking. Tired.

With all the stress from work, I haven't been able to exercise in a couple of weeks, and I'm just fat fat fat. My mother has made several pointed comments about getting the band tightened again, which I didn't want to do while I was nursing. Oh, and more good news! My milk dried up! Yay! I'm incapable of providing nature's most nutritional resource for my baby boy!!!!

*ahem* Sorry, while I recover from that little hormone spike. I've had to give up pumping and I'm really bitter about it. It's not that I love pumping; I hate being a milk cow, truth be told. But I adored providing for my child. I loved thinking that he could tell the difference between formula and Mommy Milk, and that he absolutely preferred mine. I imagined that somehow, my milk could bypass my messy genes and awful immune system to provide incredible strength for my kids.

And giving up nursing? It's like letting go of the last physical vestige of motherhood. I'm no longer physically connected to my child, and that's really tough for me -- surprisingly so. For someone who is so freaking miserable when pregnant, I love giving birth. It's the most unbelievable thing that a person who can pass out at the sign of a needle can pull it together to stay calm through hours of torrential pain, push a baby out even when the epidural has worn off, and have just enough energy left to smile weakly at that squalling little bundle.

And it's all done, now. Unless things turn around financially for us (and/or G-d has a vendetta against the Pill), I'm not going to have another baby. I can barely be in the same room as all three boys without feeling panicky now, so I'm sure having a fourth child is not in the cards. I know that panic will pass, but I just feel so overwhelmed and underappreciated right now. I still have those moments when I look at my kids and my eyes well with tender joy, but I've got about as many when my eyes are tearing from exhaustion and frustration.

I know; poor, poor JT, the spoiled brat. I know I'm a brat, but I can't help it. Sorry for the pity party, folks. Blame it on the hormones -- even 150 milligrams of Zoloft are no match for the mystery of the female body.