Ironic

We've been having an ongoing argument in the household as to what constitutes irony. To annoy me further, the Mr. has taken to ending each heated debate by singing the Alannis Morrisette song that sparked the debate in the first place. Three years ago, mind you. Why it has reared its ugly head again in the past month, I will never know.

I maintain that there is nothing in "Isn't it Ironic?" that is, in fact, ironic.

The Mister insists that finding 2,000 spoons when all you need is a knife is truly and inherently ironic. He is vehement about it. It makes me want to tape a knife to his forehead.

"So tell me what IS ironic then!" he demands.

I have to think about it. I am not an ironic person, all in all. I mean I get the literary gist of irony, even if I can't quote the actual definition (which is probably unhelpful anyway, as it is most likely listed as "Irony: the state of being ironic." I hate that.)

I finally come up with Jim Fixx. It is ironic that while jogging to increase his lifespan, he dropped dead of a heart attack.

The Mister says that he could have dropped dead of a heart attack at any time, and jogging had nothing to do with it.

Sometimes I think he is purposefully stubborn just to make me crazy.

It all finally culminated this week while we were watching Heroes. He paused it in the middle, and announced he was heading to the garage for a cigarette. He waited for me to move. I did not. "Aren't you coming?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "I'm trying to move, but my super power seems to have kicked in at an inappropriate time."

He thought about this for a minute. "Your super power is super speed, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And when it kicks in, it paralyzes you?"

"Yes."

He grins. "Now THAT is irony."

At last! The debate is over and dead. Whew!

And of course, now that it's all over, I remembered the Gift of the Magi, which is probably the icon of literary irony. But I am NOT reopening the irony debate with that one. I am not, not, not!

NOT, I tell you.

Hell, I probably will. I'm such a stinking masochist.

All's Good

So we took Kiki to KC on Thursday, and the short story is: all her blood panels were normal. Yay!!

Now I've been a big city girl my whole life, so the fact that we had to drive 4 and half hours one way to see a specialist gave me a special kind of thrill. I felt like Laura Ingalls or something. I know that sounds grossly and spectacularly ignorant, but it's true. I swear, if I had to drive 6 hours to buy some special electronic doohickey we couldn't live without, I'd be beside myself with glee. Of course, since the Internet is everywhere, and yes, Virgina, we have Best Buy here in town, that's highly unlikely, but still.

Anyway, I discovered something last night about my communication (lack thereof) with my husband.

Okay, when the doctor first contacted us to tell us Kiki's blood tests were abnormal, and referred us to the hemotologist in KC (who was awesome by the way, and Mercy Children's Hospital -- I think they should decorate adult hospitals whimsically too, honestly. As we were leaving, we actually heard a little girl saying she wasn't ready to go home yet.)

I digress. When the doc told me Kiki's white cells and lymphocytes were high, she didn't tell me in so many words what that could mean. I automatically assumed leukemia, but I didn't ask (denial? probably). And I dutifully repeated to Kipp everything she had told me, but I neglected to add my suspicion that they suspected leukemia. He even asked me what it was they were specifically testing for, what the symptoms added up to, and I told him I didn't know. I mean technically, I didn't know because again, I didn't ask.

So when we get to KC, the first thing the hemotologist asks is what Kiki's doctor had told us. I repeated all the stuff about the blood. He nodded and said, "But do you know why you're here today?"

And I replied, "I assumed it was to test for leukemia." Which he immediately confirmed.

Now I had been talking to YarnHacker the night before, and talking about the symptoms of leukemia, and how I'd been watching for them. Kipp had kind of overheard it, but then didn't follow up on it. But it turns out, the thought of leukemia had never even crossed his mind, and the night before our trip to KC was the first indication he'd gotten that it was a possibility.

So he started asking me questions about what I knew about leukemia while we were waiting for Kiki's test results. I'd never seen him look so grim and tense while he was listening, and I thought at the time that it was odd that he'd waited until the day of the tests to ask me these kinds of questions, but I just went along with it.

And I found out for the first time last night, while we were relaying the story to some friends that he didn't even know leukemia was a possibility until the hemotologist said so.

I'm not sure why I just assumed he'd make the same logical conclusion I did; I obviously have more information and experience re: the blood stuff than he does, and I should have realized that. I guess I just didn't want to say it out loud. And in fact, I was sure I'd hinted around it the first day, but he just didn't pick up on it.

I think the problem is that denial about dire things is tripping up our normally pretty clear communication channels. Going to have to watch out for that pitfall, because that could get scary ugly fast.

Well, I'm just rambling at this point. Main news: the baby is healthy! She's had her flu shot (which she hated), and she's got a slight heart murmur (nothing to be worried about), and she's healthy and happy, and God, I am so grateful for that. Thank you. Amen.

I'm a Freak

I have the weirdest baggage of fears. I mean your typical mom fears the usual, you know, that the baby may fall over and get a lump on her head, or get herself into trouble while crawling about. Get lost in a store when she's a toddler. Normal fears.

I'm afraid that 1) someone is going to legally take my baby away from me and/or 2) someone will make my baby hate me.

See? I told you I was a freak.

Of course it's too soon to tell if I'll develop the normal fears. She's neither walking nor crawling yet. The most danger she seems to pose to herself is how hard she bashes her head with her own rattle. And that doesn't get any reaction out of her at all.

NaNo Blow what?

Shit. I forgot. I didn't even sign up, and even if I had, I would have blown it on day 2. DAY 2. Gads.

No word yet from the hemotologist (or however you spell that). I finally looked him up and called him on Friday, but it was late and they had already gone home for the day. Whoever it was who answered the phone assured me that no one would be calling us to set up an appointment until Kiki's records arrived in their office. So now we wait.

I'm at least calmer. Deceptively calm, it turns out, because I had occasion to drink last night, got a little past buzzed, and started bawwwwwwwwwwling. No one likes a snotty drunk, I'll tell you what. Least of all me. My loving husband, who is always insistent on being the last to leave a party, actually dragged me out early even though I kept telling him I was FIIIIIINE, I'll stop cryyyying, look I've STOOOPPED already ..... waaaaaaaah!

Yes I went partying the weekend after getting scary news about my baby and yes I cried. Unbelievable.

But Kiki got quality time with her grandparents, and nobody loves that more than Kiki and her grandparents. Honestly, we show up, we barely get a glance and a Hi, and the baby is swoooooped up and I'm pretty sure they don't put her down, unless it's to change her diaper. She naps in their arms. I know this because I've caught them.

And she's still fine, no signs of a cold, except she still has the cough. I'm going to need to get a new humidifier tomorrow; I'm sure it will help.

And that is pretty much all the news worth reporting from this household. Today, anyway.

Blood

Isn't it appropriate that right near Halloween we get news about blooooooood? Hmm?

Okay, actually, more appropriate that I took Kiki in for a blood test on Halloween? Poor girl was so tired from me running us around all day that she had a meltdown just as we went in for them to take her blood AND I forgot her binkie in the car BECAUSE I'm such a newbie mom I make myself ill sometimes.

Results today. You know it's never good when the doctor herself makes the phone call. Her lymphocytes are high. I'm not sure what that means, but immediately what it means is that the assumption is is that she'll have have a helluva time fighting off any infection should she contract one. So the doctor is making an appointment for her in Kansas City with a pediatric hematologist, and in the meantime, I'm taking her temperature like an obsessed madwoman to make sure she doesn't run any fevers.

At least we are being proactive. And if there's anything a hematologist can do, it will be done. Just waiting now to find out when our trip to KC will take place. I've never been to KC, you know. I'm kind of excited. I've heard good things. Maybe we can con the grandparents into tagging along, and then leave them in the motel with the bebe while we go bar hopping. Score!

(she types as she tries not to break down crying for the seven hundredth time today).

I'm really trying not to meltdown about this. I'm trying. Yesterday she was evaluated by DCO to determine what stages she's at, and she's 2 months behind in communication skills and 1 month behind in socialization skills. Which had me crying off and on all day while I ran errands. And now... well.

Anyway.

You know, if I can't handle these little setbacks and these potential setbacks, how am I going to handle the big ones to come? Am I going to require a straightjacket until I come to terms with her not walking until she's 3? How the hell am I supposed to be any use at all as a mother to her if I can't get it together and fucking step up already without mewling and sniffling like a great big blubbering neverending pity party?

Obviously I need therapy. Obviously I am already on top of that. I have an appointment next week which may be pre-empted by a trip to KC. Did I mention that I'm actually looking forward to going to KC?