My husband was right with his news message about weddings meaning pain, but his list was short compared to the actual injuries. Let's see----

The bride had big marks on her feet the day after the wedding from her strappy sandals.

The maid of honor woke up the day after the wedding with a horribly stiff neck.

The wife of one of the ushers got stung by a yellow jacket when the party bus that the wedding party was on stopped at a site for pictures.

The best man injured his back when the bride sat on his knee for the garter ceremony, to the point that he can't feel his legs (he was going to see a doctor yesterday).

The groom woke up with a stiff neck the day after the ceremony.

The youngest, cutest flower girl (guess who) has nasty sores on her feet from her cute ivory shoes, which she kept on the whole time she boogied (she was up until 11:30, three hours past her bedtime).

Another bridesmaid hobbled around the day after the ceremony from wearing new dress shoes all the previous day.

The wife of another usher fell twice on the dance floor (yes, drink had something to do with it).

Despite this list, the wedding really was fun. Not as fun as mine and Greg's, of course, but fun. Congratulations, Claudette and Mike. By the time we all recover, it'll be time to celebrate your first anniversary.

If you wear contact lenses, please read this. If you don't, feel free to check back another day.

I went to the eye doctor yesterday for the first time in two years. I am pretty diligent about things like going to the dentist every six months, getting a pap smear every year, and getting my eyes checked every two years.

The optometrist commented that my eyes looked kind of red and I told her I had a newborn and that I didn't get a nap yesterday. She checked my right (dominant) eye and my prescription had changed slightly, no big deal. Then she checked my left eye and there's a big change. My astigmatism is much worse, my prescription has changed at least four levels, and she couldn't get me to be able to see 20/20. She said the blood vessels are enflamed and that it's affecting my cornea.

The reason--I've worn my left contact lens beyond the recommended wear schedule. Yep, that's probably the only reason that I may have caused permanent damage to my eye. At the very least, I'm going to have to change lens manufacturers, because my old lens manufacturer doesn't make lenses in as high a prescription as I'm now going to need.

When I originally started wearing toric contact lenses (those made for people with astigmatism) ten years ago, I cleaned my lenses with this fizzy process every day and religiously cleaned them for enzymes every week. I could wear my lenses for three months before changing them. Then suddenly the manufacturer changed the box, and my three-month lenses became one-month lenses. As I told the eye doctor the last time I was examined, I didn't believe anything about the lenses had changed besides the manufacturer wanting you to buy lenses more often, so I continued to wear each lens for three months.

The eye doctor two years ago never told me there might be a problem with that (he's no longer with the office, by the way). Times changed with cleaning solutions and processes and the enzyme tablets are really outrageously expensive, so when they came out with multi-purpose solutions that say you don't have to enzyme anymore, I jumped on board. The newest solutions even say you don't have to rub your lenses when cleaning them anymore (I still rub them to clean them anyway). The problem is that I stopped doing enzyme treatments and continued wearing my lenses beyond the wear schedule.

If you wear your contact lenses beyond the recommended wear schedule (and I bet all of you lens-wearers reading this do), please check with your eye doctor to make sure that's OK. They can give you some guidance. Sure, you might end up spending more on lenses, but you could avoid serious eye damage.

As for me, I need to stop wearing my lenses immediately and wear my glasses, at least for a week. The doctor said I can wear my contacts for the wedding on Saturday, so I'll probably wear them for a few hours that day. I have to go back for another appointment and I'll find out more about what damage I've really done.

This concludes today's cautionary tale. You only have two eyes, people. Take care of yourself.

Ohesotte nani? What is the meaning of my bellybutton?

That's Allie's favorite phrase from Daddy's new Japanese phrase book. She picked the book up because it has little sketches of funny men in it and she asked me to read her what it said. Greg was laughing at me because I'd read something that wouldn't make sense to a literal 3-year-old mind and then try to explain to her what it meant. Most of the time I'd just say, oh, that's a silly one. The above phrase is from the Zen section. It's funny, but it doesn't make too much sense to a literal 38-year-old mind either.

Allie is going to be gorgeous this weekend at my sister's wedding. She has an ivory satin dress with an organza overlay and a big satin sash. It has two satin roses at the raised waistline and a satisfactorily-swishy skirt (I say that because we put it on Allie briefly this weekend and she swung the skirt around and around). I remember doing that with dress skirts when I was her age and even older. She has ivory dress shoes and she'll wear ivory hose (as soon as we find some that fit). Thank you, Nana, for all your work on this outfit. Allie is going to beat the pants off the other flower girl in the cute department (sorry to Amanda).

No, I'm not dead, nor is Greg. We've both been out of town. I got home first and haven't had time to blog what with being a single mom until he got home today. No offense to single parents--god knows I have all the respect in the world for them, but sometimes being a single parent must suck. Not having another adult to pass the crying kid off to--that would be really hard on any kind of regular basis. Lucky for me, I just had two nights of it.

Julia has decided that her fussy period of the day is going to be in the evening, between 6 and 8:30 or so (if we're lucky, and it doesn't start at 3). This is a real shame, because that's when Daddy primarily sees her and he's beginning to think she's a demon. Honestly, she has the potential to be a sweet little girl. She's smiling now and she really looks at you, which is cool. She just needs to realize that sweet girl potential, preferably before her parents go nuts.

Lots of things have been happening--the bachelorette party (details of which will remain verbal only, sparing my mother who I know reads my blog), Allie's first tumbling class (she did great, except that she kept asking me when it was going to be her turn), Allie's first visit to the dentist (she did fine, but she needs to stop sucking her thumb--big surprise). I'm too tired to write details on any of this right now, however. You'll all have to wait to be enlightened (I know you're all holding your breath right now).

I decided to tidy up our mudroom, which contains a washer, a dryer, a hamper, a bench which was so full of stuff that there was no way anyone could ever sit down to put shoes on, and a garbage can. I also emptied out the cabinets over the washer and dryer and rearranged everything or moved it to where it really should go in the house, etc. As an example, why were two beanie baby lions that Allie got when she opened her bank account three years ago in these cabinets? God only knows.

I found out that Greg currently has seven pairs of gloves just in this cabinet in the house. His total glove count doesn't include the three closets in the house where he has outerwear, other possible glove locations. I had five pairs of gloves/mittens, and Allie had three (but I know she's got at least two other pairs in her room). In my defense, I got three pairs of black gloves for Christmas a few years ago, but we're still poster children for conspicuous consumption. No, on second though, not poster children, because I don't think we're atypical. Most people probably have five to seven pairs of gloves.

And don't even get me started on coats. I didn't dive into the coat closet in that room yet, but I know for a fact that I own at least 12 coats, probably closer to 15. Greg recently brought home two new coats, so I know he has at least 15 and possibly more. Isn't that insane? I pass by our local dry cleaner every fall, who advertises the "Coats for Kids" charity drive, and I think we really need to do something. In fact, we have donated coats in the past to St. Vincent de Paul's. But I think it's time to get serious. And you?

Sermonizing over for the day. Thank you very much.

My sister is getting married on September 20th and I'm standing up. I met with a seamstress (there's an old-fashioned word for you) yesterday to get my bridesmaid's dress tailored. Maybe I should call her a tailor? Doesn't seem right for a woman, and I'm as big a feminist as some and a bigger feminist than most.

Fortunately for me, she knows her way around a bridesmaid's dress. I took Industrial Arts in middle school instead of Home Ec and I can barely manage to sew buttons on, myself. Actually, I can sew buttons on, but they usually don't stay on very long. Greg is better at it than I am, which he would be happy to tell you when he's in the mood to send a minor knock at his wife.

My bride-to-be sister is having a bachelorette party this Saturday, which I am planning to attend. Does this mean I need to visit an adult bookstore for an appropriate gift? Believe it or not, somewhere we have a gift certificate to Selective Video, our local "dirty-goods" shop. It's my husband's; you'll have to ask him why we have it. I don't mind so much visiting an adult bookstore, it's just the embarassment of buying something--you want to tell the clerk that you're buying the 10-inch dildo as a gift for a friend, really, and you're not just saying that because you're embarassed.

Ask me sometime about the time I visited an adult bookstore with my mother-in-law. God's truth.

Pig and I went to the vet yesterday. She hates going to the vet (big surprise) so I had gotten the cat carrier out a few days ago, thinking maybe she would forget about it if it sat around like furniture for a little bit. Yeah, right. I guess when it came time for me to put her in it, I was acting a little too casually like I wasn't even thinking of taking her to the vet, because she immediately sequestered herself beneath our bed, which is about the only place in the house that you can't just reach and grab her from under.

Pig is normally a very docile pet, but we spent a good five minutes with me poking her and her hissing and even growling from under the bed without any success on my part. I finally got her to come out by poking her with the ironing board (I'm sure you can appreciate the visual here) and off we went to the vet, which thank god is very nearby (everything is nearby is this town).

She was evaluated and got her feline leukemia shot in about 7 minutes. I think it took me longer to get her and Julia inside the building in their various carriers than the actual exam. Pig is in fine health for a 10 year old kitty, and now we shouldn't have to go back for a whole 'nother year. Thank god.

Stand by--next week Allie is going to the dentist for her first-ever visit. I have a feeling my narrative on it could be similar.

I don't think I'm going to blog anymore. My life at present is so dull compared to the others that are linked to our website.

I did get stung by a yellow jacket today. Dammit.

Did you know that you can seriously give yourself carpal tunnel/tendonitis symptoms by holding a baby for long lengths of time in awkward positions? It's true. I've been holding Julia for inordinate periods of time lately (she's been much fussier than the last few weeks) and my wrists both hurt. Add in my sore neck from keeping her head on my shoulder (that's the position she seems to like best) and I'm a basket case. I mentioned that there should be a parent body conditioning course a few weeks ago and now I'm thinking of designing one. Pregnant parents could practice with those lifelike dolls or sacks of flour or something. Dwayne and Raquel, are you listening?

In her blog, Donna talked a few days ago about (in my opinion, at least) rude questions people ask when they find out you're single and 35. Having been single myself until age 31, I feel somewhat empathetic. Everyone should understand that it's not a bad thing to be single, for god's sake. Seeing some marriages out there should convince people of that. A friend of mine attended a wedding this weekend. At the reception, the bridal couple were too busy arguing to come out to the dance floor for their first dance. And the guests were talking about how both new spouses have a history of cheating on one another. Gosh, what a match made in heaven.

Once you're married, though---daytime TV is for the birds, but I did catch something when flipping through the channels from Dr. Phil. I don't even know Dr. Phil, but I've heard a little about him in the newspaper. (It has definitely paid off for him to be friends with Oprah.) Dr. Phil says that you can't just speculate about getting divorced or run to the courthouse and file at the drop of a hat. He says you have to earn a divorce. Earn it by trying everything in your power to save your marriage first--including a revolutionary thing called "talking to your spouse," counseling, retreats, whatever. I think Dr. Phil is on the right track with this one. (Didn't my husband just say this same thing a few days ago with his blog on the Episcopal gay bishop?)

Doesn't this mean we're meant for each other?

Postscript--I had to stop typing and run upstairs because Julia woke crying. As I warmed her bottle, I held her on my shoulder. And wouldn't you know--she hit me right in the eye with one of her little fists. Parent pain, indeed.

Robyn, I'm with you. My potted plants have spent themselves heroically, blossoming to the end of the summer despite my haphazard watering and deadheading. They're toast (pardon the pun). But somehow, I can't bring myself to just stop watering them and let them pass into annual plant heaven. I guess I'm waiting for that first frost to come and take them away. I realize I have awhile to wait--after all, my tomatoes are just really getting started producing. I'm never happy, I guess.

Julia was a bear this morning--just not happy. No amount of eating, rocking, swinging, burping, or holding made her content. At least content enough to relax and go to sleep for an hour, which is what I wanted her to do. I went out to lunch with some co-workers and she's been basically sleeping ever since I packed her up to go to the restaurant. I think she's trying to make it up to me.

I made Yankee Pot Roast for dinner tonight. I hope it's good. Don't worry, Greg my honey, I'm not going to ruin it at the end by trying to make dumplings in it. If nothing else, pot roast makes the house smell oniony good. Speaking of, I have to go stir things up in the pot. Mmmmm.

I've been home for three weeks and I think my brain is starting to rot away. Seriously. I've been meaning to sit down for at least two weeks now and figure out what adjustment to make to my tax exemptions, direct deposit allocations, and flexible spending account deductions to allow for the taxes that my short-term disability payments aren't paying and to keep things on an even keel otherwise (don't worry if you don't understand what I mean, it doesn't matter) and I still haven't done it. I just need to do a little financial analysis, but I'm procrastinating about it like it's our 2004 tax returns.

I've been managing to keep the checking account balanced and pay bills like always, but this task just seems beyond me. Not that I'm willing to go back to work to get my brain back in shape or anything.

If I had had a normal delivery and couldn't afford otherwise, I'd be going back to work in 3 weeks. Many of the employees I deal with when I'm working are forced to do just that (I handle leaves of absence for my company). I would not be ready. Not by a long shot. Julia's just getting to the point where she's trying to smile and she's also starting to really look at you when you hold her. I'm not ready to leave that.

Before I type anything, I generally check my husband's blog, Dwayne's blog and the blogs of Greg's co-workers. I like reading the rantings of these genuinely creative people. If any of my co-workers want to set up a competing series of blogs, let me or Greg know. I know he would help you out. And you get past that "why would anyone want to read anything I have to say" thing and eventually you just don't care, you type.

Having said that, I don't know what to comment about Ryan's latest blog. Hmm. Well, yes indeedy. Okay, then.

I just can't think of anything more to type after reading that. Until later---

OK, I made it one whole day without typing something about Julia, so now I can tell what we did yesterday. We went to work! Oh, what excitement. Actually, it was fun. Julia slept soundly while she was passed between about 15 adoring (or they put on a good impression of being adoring) people.

I booted up my work computer and printed out a report that I have access to but no one else does (other than MIS, and who wants to bother them if you don't have to). So that made me feel useful. And I got Julia added to our health insurance and put some life insurance on her and changed my beneficiaries so if I die she gets some money. All good things to get taken care of. I also brought in donuts for my birthday.

Then it was time for us to leave and I put Julia in her carseat. Big mistake. I've adjusted the straps now, but I stuck her in there when they will still a little too tight and she screamed. I closed the door to my office and fed her, but she was still mad. I hope none of my co-workers were on any important phone calls. We skedaddled as soon as possible (is that how you spell skedaddled? Not a word I use often.).

Last night, the family went for a walk. This morning, Allie, Julia, and I walked Allie to daycare and then Julia and I went around the block. It's going to be nasty hot and humid today so this was the time of day to do a little exercise. Now "Cool Jules" is sleeping (as her daddy has decided to christen her).

She became an official person as registered by the federal government today. We got her social security card. I wonder if there will be anything left of social security by the time she's 80 and can start collecting?

Yes, I am old. Well, so what. You're as much older as you read this as I am. Got that?

I had a wonderful birthday. My husband spoils me rotten and I love the incredible gift he got me. My sisters and my parents came for the day on Saturday, which was very nice. Not too long of a visit is a good thing when you're still transitioning back into new parenthood.

People are always very impressed that my husband insists on making me a birthday cake every year (or at least ordering one, but usually making one). I think he's trying to make it up to me for the fact that I never had a birthday party as a kid because my birthday is in August and it was too hard to get my school friends together. Nope, never had a birthday party. Not even one. Everyone reading this should get together and have a great big pity party for me. I bet if you got a bunch of those tiny sympathy violins in one place in cyberspace . . .

I decided I need to have at least one post to this blog that doesn't mention you-know-who, so I'm going to tell you another time what we did today.

What's up with the spellcheck on this thing that it highlights "blog" as a typo? Weird.

Greg and I took Julia to the doctor yesterday for her 2-week checkup. Everything is fine. We bet on what her weight would be, just like we guess what the total will be at the grocery store when we fill up the cart. I said 7 lbs., 2 oz. Greg said 7 lbs., 5 oz., I believe. The nurse, getting in the spirit of things, guessed 7 lbs., 9 oz. Then she went off to weigh Julia.

Remember, this little girl was 6 lbs, 13 oz. at birth and lost 6 oz. before we left the hospital. I read somewhere that it can take 2 weeks for a baby to regain the weight they lose after birth. Well, that wasn't a problem for Julia. She weighed 7 LBS., 12 OZ!

I'm proud of that, for some reason. I have no idea why. Gaining weight is at no other time in your life cause for celebration, but there you go. She's getting to be a big girl and I think it's cool.

Speaking of--the getting-to-be-a-big-girl is hungry again. Later--

So Raquel and Dwayne are having a baby. I'm very happy for them and I'm sure Raquel is over the moon. Dwayne--are you in shock or are you raring to go on this new adventure? Don't worry, I'm sure Raquel's whole personality won't change, at least not immediately. I would probably try to get those long motorcycle rides in pretty quickly, however!

Babies. They're fun. A lot of work, but fun and funny. Julia ate this morning, about an hour ago. I let her drink a little over an ounce while she made all her usual little sighs and squeaks, then put her up on my shoulder for a burp. She let out such a whopper, oh my! I looked around for the trucker who went with it. And when I laughed at her, she looked at me like, what? Never heard a burp before? Not like that, little one!

I am home alone with Julia from roughly 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. With that much time, you would think I could get a lot done. Like thank you notes written for all of the wonderful people who have gotten Julia and/or Allie gifts, like cleaning at least one room of the house, like weeding my front walk (which looks atrocious right now, notwithstanding the really big weeds Greg pulled yesterday). Nope.

All I've gotten done today is kept Julia clean and well fed, emptied the dishwasher, swept the kitchen floor, took a one-hour nap, washed and made up bottles, written out the newspaper announcement of Julia's birth, and called the short-term disability insurance company who mistakenly think I did not have a c-section and who plan to cut off my benefits after only 6 weeks. I'm planning on making mushroom pork chops for dinner, but it just seems like I should get a lot more done, doesn't it?

Tomorrow will be better. Right now, Julia's making "give me a snack" noises, so I have to go. And she just sneezed twice. How can a sneeze be adorable? I am so in love.

Today is my first full day without any pain medication. I must be getting over this whole surgery thing. I put in my contact lenses (been really lazy about that since I haven't been going anywhere), wore a regular shirt (not a big T-shirt), and felt almost human.

Tonight, the family went for a walk. Greg and his girls. He is hopelessly outnumbered--a wife, two daughters, and even a female cat. Just wait until the daughters get to puberty--whoa whoa.

Tom and his wife, Amy, did a wonderful thing for us--they brought us a fantastic barbecued pork dinner. Considering that I sleep every afternoon (and thus don't cook) and Greg is kept busy serving the needs of the kidlets, it was a very cool thing. Thank you both!

I got a call this afternoon from work. It's nice to be needed, I suppose, but the question they had could have been answered by looking up someone who had been in a similar situation in the past and seeing what I did then. I guess they didn't think of that.

I'm just cranky because they called right when I was taking a nap. I'm starting to feel sleep-deprived despite my naps, so don't rile me. I haven't slept more than 3 hours or so without waking for literally two or three months. Am I too old to do this mom thing again?

Well, I'm two-faced, I'll admit it. Right after I typed yesterday about how motherhood was cool, I went upstairs and Allie proceeded to drive me nuts for the next ten minutes. I'll admit I got rid of her by sending her outside on the deck to be with her grandpa. I hope the gods of parenthood don't strike me dead.

I also caused other trouble for myself. Just last evening, I said to Greg, "isn't Julia a good baby?" What was I thinking to tempt the fates like that. She only was up twice again last night, but the first time was from 11:45 to 2:15 (yes, 2 1/2 hours). Blink, blink, went those little dark eyes, but they wouldn't close! I tried to get her down for 1 and 1/2 hours, then Greg tried for 1/2 hour, then I finally got her to sleep after another 1/2 hour. We tried rocking and walking and the rocking chair and swaddling and feeding and checking her diaper, but she wouldn't be comforted. My mom was sleeping in the living room where the swing is. If she has another night like that one, I think I'll put her in her swing and see if that helps. It would certainly help that ache in the middle of my back.

There should be some type of parent body-conditioning course---

Well, we've been home for almost two days now and things are going swimmingly. Julia is turning out to be a sweetheart of a baby. These last two nights, she's only been up twice each night. That's pretty good for a newborn.

Allie is busy being a wonderful big sister. She's very helpful in running to get spit cloths and forgotten items in the next room, and so far we haven't seen her try to hit Julia. I say that mostly in jest, but you never know.

I'm recovering all right--this certainly seems easier physically than Allie's delivery. I'm down to only one kind of pain medication and I'm not taking it as frequently as I could be.

My parents have been here helping and they're leaving tomorrow, so that's when we'll get our first test of this new family dynamic for the four of us. I'm looking forward to it just being us (no offense, Mom and Dad!).

Motherhood is so cool.