Sorry ladies, I'm really cranky this week. Just about everything annoys me and I'm quick to be judgmental and picky. I'm tired and whiny and just plain fed up. Here's why:
It really bugs me when people take a perfectly fine name like "John" and add an apostrophe to it. What's that about? An apostrophe is for the possessive form of nouns or to show the omission of letters. There aren't any letters missing from John. It's a totally complete name. Don't add an apostrophe. And why do so many parents take a classic name like Tommie and intentionally misspell it? It's spelled Tommie or Tommy. Not Tawmmie. It's not unique. It's misspelled. Better yet, name him Thomas so he'll have options as an adult. Olivia is spelled with an O, not an A. It's Danielle, not Dan-Yell. And lately, we've been seeing a ton of Nevaeh's. That's heaven spelled backward. What does that mean? Your child is hell? C'mon guys, give them a real name. Don't plague them with a lifetime of explaining, re-spelling and correcting. That's not nice. If you want something unique—go for it. Just spell it correctly, will you?
It really bugs me when I walk into a labor room for the first time and people are naked. C'mon guys, I know they say "toss your modesty out the window for labor" but don't. I'm working here and don't actually know you. I understand things get hot and heavy in labor and a lot of the job has to be done without underwear. But could you at least throw on a tank top until we know each other a little better? And Dad, you don't get to be naked at all. Put your shirt and pants back on. I know we call it a family birth center but guess what, we're not actually family and even if you hang out naked at home, I'll bet you don't hang out naked at work. I'm at work. Put your clothes on. Mom, if you need to strip down, we'll work it out. Don't you worry. I'm not a prude, really. It's just uncomfortable spending 12 hours with naked people.
It really bugs me when people assume that just because I'm a labor nurse, I want to hear all about their sex lives. Guess what, I don't. Patients come in all the time telling me about what they were doing an hour ago that kicked up contractions. It's enough to tell me, "we were having sex and then I noticed I was having contractions." Really, that's plenty of information. I don't need to know who was doing what to whom. No blow-by-blow details (that might be a poor choice of words). Sometimes I just want to stick my fingers in my ears and yell "LALALALALA" until they stop talking. I don't, though. I listen and nod and tell myself to keep my mouth shut.
It really bugs me when a two-year-old comes to meet her sister for the first time and when she sees her mom holding the new baby and starts to cry some other adult says, "quit your crying. You're not the baby anymore." What? Are you joking? Of course, she's still a baby. And she's confused and a little heartbroken when she sees her very own mommy in bed with another baby. How would you feel if you walked in on your husband with a new wife? You might start crying too. Have a heart, will you? When the two-year-old starts to cry, hand that newborn over to someone else. Take your older child in your arms and cradle her. Tell her she's your number one baby and you love her, love her, love her. Tell her you understand her feelings and reassure her that even though there's a new baby in the family, she's still your number one. The newborn won't know the difference but your toddler sure will. Then give her a bunch of presents and ice cream to sweeten the deal. There are tough days ahead as the family gets used to a new baby. No need to knock your toddler off the throne too. That's just asking for trouble called sibling rivalry.
OK, there. I'm sorry for being so whiny and cranky. Maybe I'm just tired and need to recharge my batteries. Or maybe it's getting all the kids back to school. Or maybe it's because my own baby girls have grown up and gone off to college and I've got a bad case of separation anxiety. And heartbreak. I remember just like it was yesterday when they were babies, just one year apart, being told, "they grow up so fast." Deep in the throws of sleepless nights and endless diapers I had no idea just how true that was. Now they're grown and gone and I miss them so much it makes me cranky. Thank God I still have some little ones left at home. Sorry, ladies, I'll perk up next week.
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