playing catch up.

It turns out that coaching lacrosse leaves me not much time for blogging.  Hmph.  In fact, I've only got thirty minutes until Marley, Rudy, and I head for the field so that Todd can pick those girls up and I can get at least ninety minutes with my team and without Marley wrapped around my shins.  I should be spending this time harassing Bean with updates about the ticking clock and pleas to get out of her nightie and into something warmer.

Instead, I'd like to tell three stories that pretty much sum up my life right about now.

First:  Monday morning Rudy had her four-month well visit.  We were late because I thought I had time to squeeze in some exercise via Tracy Anderson's punishing post-partum workout DVD.  I've done it only a few times, but I know it's working because my abs hurt, and my butt really hurts.  Why oh why, I thought in the midst of a whimpering sweat, do ladies have to go though the bizarreness of pregnancy, and the pain and recovery of birth, only to have to work, a lot, to whip their bodies back into shape?  After those ten months, you should wake up one morning looking like a nineteen-year-old beach volleyball player as a reward.  But I'm straying from my point, which is that Marley refused to get dressed for this appointment.  She changed from a pink pair of footie pajamas to a purple pair of footie pajamas.  Really.  And I ended up tossing her in the car just like that since we were already running late.  So, I was that mom in the waiting room (and at the grocery store later), and here's why I love my pediatrician.  When she walked into the examining room, she squealed at Rudy, took one look at my purple Bean and said, "Hey Marley.  Nice pajamas."  And then smiled at me and said, "Aren't they fun?"

Second:  Yesterday, Wednesday, I drove my mom to yet another appointment.  She has Alzheimer's and doesn't drive.  Monday, I brought her to the dentist, where I learned (through a private consultation) that her teeth are a mess and it's not worth fixing them because she's a Type I Diabetic who won't listen when her daughters tell her that Creme Savers and Nature's Valley Sweet & Salty Granola Bars do not make a balanced diet.  I bring her every Monday and Tuesday afternoon to an adult social day services program.  And Wednesday, she was scheduled for a series of tests at a nearby hospital.  I had to pack up snacks and clothes and toys for Marley and Rudy, because we were going from the hospital at 1 p.m. to practice by 3 p.m. and then to my sister's so that she could watch my maniacs while I was teaching SAT prep.  At central registration, my mom stumbled when asked why she was there.  "Well, I've been here before," she said.  "So...this is a check-up."  I bounded over: "She's having a mammogram, a bone density scan, and bloodwork."  At the women's health center for the first two tests, Rudy snoozed in the carriage while I read Marley The Velveteen Rabbit and kept checking the clock.  My mom came back into the waiting room sort of early, so I asked whether she already had both tests done.  "I don't know," she said.  (?!)  And then muttered belligerently, "I was in some machine."  While I checked with one of the receptionists, a woman seated next to her asked Marley questions about her baby sister.  That my mom haltingly answered.  Wheeee!

Third:  On Tuesday, Rudy had her first solid food: barley cereal.  She was not into it, and responded by first whining and then screeching.  Like, "Mom?!  What the hell is this?  Give me my bub!  And why am I in this chair?"  Three days later, she's slurping a little more steadily.  Rudy's also moved from the Pack and Play beside our bed to her crib: such a big kid.  And she also did a terrific job assisting me on the practice fields at lacrosse yesterday: strapped in a Bjorn, clenching my whistle's cord, spastically flailing her arms, and...squawking.