While you were sleeping

I was probably awake, feeding the baby. And reading. A lot. Just look at what I accomplished during my month off.

And you thought all I did was have a baby.

Burn, baby (weight), burn

Hi. It's been a while. While on maternity leave I've found time to do a lot of things, but blogging just hasn't been one. This has more to do with lack of material than true lack of time, as previously mentioned. I mean, I could spare a few minutes from my busy TLC-watching afternoon to post if only I had anything interesting to say. I'm not sure the following qualifies as interesting, but I'm gonna keep typing nevertheless. (Or would "nonetheless" be more appropriate? Eh, I'm leaving it.)
Today marks the beginning of the end of my pregnancy weight. I've been pretending to watch what I eat, which mostly means dessert only once a day and no second helpings (usually). (I'm digging parentheses today. Did you notice?) But today my ob cleared me to resume exercise. Which means...P90X.
Can you believe I'm gonna be one of those people who P90X? Me neither. But Nick has convinced me it's the fastest possible way to overall fitness. Of course, my goal is actually to be pre-baby skinny again, but that sounds too shallow to say out loud (or type, rather).This first day didn't hurt too badly mostly because I couldn't do the exercises properly. Especially the abs. I spent more time floundering and falling over than actually crunching. And I've spent all afternoon fighting the urge to reward my intense physical activity with a cookie (can we say counterproductive?).
But you gotta start somewhere, and start I have. I'll keep ya posted.

Ego un-boost

Sorry, but this post involves babies peripherally and might be me fishing for compliments in a very thinly veiled manner.
I went to the grocery sans Elle so I could be more efficient (ah, the good ol' days). In the check-out line, the cashier held up the item she was scanning and asked...

Clerk: Do you know what you're having yet?
Me: Huh? Does she mean for dinner?
Clerk: What you're having? You're pregnant, right?
Me: I'm not pregnant. I already had a baby.
[very uncomfortable silence]

I mean, do I really still look pregnant? I know my stomach isn't flat yet, but I didn't think the pooch was that big. I'm not back in my skinny day clothes (all you ladies know what those are, right?), but I'm wearing all regular clothes. The maternity stuff has been banished to the back of the closet.
I relayed my tale and subsequent mortification to Nick immediately upon arriving home. His indignation was less than I was hoping for. He did throw me the bone that he definitely never would  have asked a woman of my current proportions about being pregnant. But he did try and defend the poor girl who was just trying to be nice (blah ,blah) and said that maybe I could be really early and she was just confused. Bah humbug.
At least the experience gave me motivation to skip dessert today.

Battle of the sexes: Creating a monster

Thank your lucky starts, friends. The monster is not Elle. This post has nothing to do with babies.

It's funny how married people acquire each others' habits and tastes. For example, chocolate cake used to mean a 9x13" pan to me. Thanks to Nick, only an 8" layer cake will do now. Even though the frosting to cake ratio is the same, I've just learned I like it more. Feels fancier or something. And I think I use some of his phrases. Of course, I can't think of any right now, so this paragraph just lost a lot of its humor. But moving on. To the part where Nick gets more like me.

Shopping used to mean Abercrombie and American Eagle to my dear Nicholas. Since our marriage, his definition of my favorite pastime has expanded. Dramatically. And not just me dragging him to my stores. I know better than that. It started with going to Express for dress shirts and pants. He was still pretty resistant, often refusing based on not wanting to look "metro." Then we found Calvin Klein and Kenneth Cole at Macy's. Then, dear friends, I made a crucial mistake. I talked him into getting a silk and cashmere blend sweater from Banana Republic. "Hmm, this is kinda nice." Um, yeah it is. Once you go Banana, you don't go back. At least my darling husband gives me all of the credit (or blame, depending on your perspective). I don't mind a bit since his wandering through menswear results in more shopping time for me, too.

And that's all I got. See, no mention of babies anywhere!

My new rut

I'm feeling very uninspired today. The only things I can think to talk about relate to babies and are boring. Kinda like I used to only have work stories. But since Elle is still very tiny, she hasn't had time to accumulate hilarity for me to share. And I haven't been at work and therefore have no work stories. And since I'm trying to go healthy (emphasis on try, hence a splurge on Chuy's Thursday), I don't even have any new baking escapades.

You'll have to settle for a couple baby pictures.

Open eyes! I think she's even looking at us sometimes. Better put - trying to look at us. 

Milk drunk baby. 

One of her many grumpy faces, which I get whenever I dare to disturb her slumber.

Keep holding on. I will eventually have something worthwhile to talk about.

Prep school

Guys, I now understand why people with new babies seemingly fall off the face of the earth. It's pretty much the complete opposite of why newlyweds do the same thing. I am tiiirrreed. But when I replied with "tired" when the pediatrician asked how I'm doing and he replied, "You don't look it," I had an epiphany. I have spent years training for such a time as this. How, you ask? My doggies and my career. Let's make a list.

1) MICU call is q3, which means I've already gotten really good at being horridly sleep-deprived 2 of every 3 days. Three of 3 isn't that much more.

2) The pager, like a baby, makes its really, really irritating noise unpredictably at all hours of the night. But when you confront the source of the noise, babies are cute (their best defense mechanism). Pagers are not.

3) If you can sleep through beeping tele(metry) boxes outside your call room door, baby wailing ain't nothin'.

4) When the new puppy has to go potty in the middle of the night, it requires a trip into the jolting cold outdoors. Diaper changes happen in the warmth of the nursery.

5) Neither dogs nor unconscious patients can tell you whats wrong. I've gotten good at reading non-verbal cues. Also known as being a "veterinarian."

6) Haldol:delirious, screaming patient :: pacifier:screaming baby

7) I've had lots of practice avoiding coming into direct contact with poo (and other various bodily fluids).

8) I can fall asleep and wake up on command at any time of day or night. Sometimes I'm up and performing a task before I'm even fully conscious. Really handy for 2am diaper changes.

9) I can juggle labs, vitals, I/Os (intake/output), meds, and discharge planning on 18 patients simultaneously. What's so hard about diaper count and keeping track of the last feeding for one little baby?

10) I'm well-versed in that soothing tone of voice to which dogs respond. Fortunately, babies do well with the same.

And there you have it. Why all new parents should have to spend a year as a medicine resident.