Abez Is... 50% White,50 % Pakistani,Muslim Hijab-wearing type female, Daughter of Momma, Sister of OwlieWife of HF,Momma of Khalid and Iman,Writer,Graphic Designer, Editor, Freelancer, Blogger, Inhaler of Chocolate
HF is asleep, Khalid is asleep, Iman is asleep- why then am I awake? Because it's hard to eat chocolate cereal in your dreams, that's why.
So my bowl of chocolate cereal and I are here to share our continuing adventures in dental destiny. On Wednesday, I dutifully submitted to the dentist- a nice man who does horrible things to my mouth, and let him fight it out with my jaw for ownership of my last two wisdom teeth. It wasn't a fair fight. He had pliers and some sort of ice-pick. My teeth were unarmed. After about twenty minutes of wrangling, the teeth were out and my unhappy gums were packed with cotton.
That would have ended a painful but mundane day in dental history, were it not for the evil forces of TMJ. TMJ is a long a complicated term that, for me, means that in addition to popping and clicking at embarrassing times, my jaw is also vulnerable to being dislocated and locked open anytime I visit a dentist. So thanks to TMJ, I left the dentist with a misaligned mouth, but thanks to the anethesia, I had no idea until 11pm that night when I realized I couldn't close my teeth.
I called the dentist and he offered a simple solution-
Is your husband home?
Yes.
Tell him to place his thumbs on your molars and push your jaw open and down, when it clicks, push it back into place.
-blink blink-
Try that and let me know if it works. I'll be waiting for your call.
I headed for the bedroom, where HF was sitting in the rocking chair reading while Khalid, presumably falling asleep, was waving his feet from under a pile of pillows.
(Hey, have you ever wanted to dislocate my jaw? Now's your chance!)
HF blinked a few times when I told him the plan. He grinned nervously and said he'd give it a shot. We tried it a few times- HF with both thumbs in my mouth, trying to force my jaw open without hurting me and overall, succeeding in little more than causing my tongue to get dry.
(Don't worry, the worst you can do is dislocate my jaw, and that's what we're trying to do!)
It didn't work. HF is too nice, too gentle, and maybe even too squeamish. By then it was 11:30. I called the dentist back and arrangements were made to meet me back at his clinic. I made it there just after 1 am, and after much pushing and pulling of my jaw, the dentist succeeded in popping it somewhat back into place.
But not completely back into place- my teeth were set too far to the right, and the ones on the bottom were set exactly in line with the ones on top, when normally they are set just behind. Apparently, my jaw has spasmed, and due possibly to inflammation as well- it's stuck there. Still- even as I type this, my jaw is set down and to the right. My teeth only align if I manually push things back into place, and that too is painful.
So what now? Well, first we laugh and shake our head, but not too hard, because it's all stiff and sore. Then, we wait one more day and see if the swelling goes down. We're taking anti-inflammatory meds, and if that doesn't work, the dentist will prescribe a muscle relaxant. Me, I just wish I could chew again.
You know that feeling when you're a kid- when your mom calls you and you don't want to come, but you know you have to, so you hang your head and drag your feet and shuffle towards her mumbling 'Okay moooom.'
HF is on his way to pick me up right now. We're going to the dentist, where I will have my last two wisdom teeth removed.
AssalamuAlaikum Every Mc Bodies who may still occasionally come to my blog. :) A friend of mine is compiling information on Muslim eating habits in Ramadan for an article, and needs help.
Khalid, who is laying under my desk and pulling on my toes as I type this, is overdue for his nap. He would have been asleep already, had it not been for his iron determination to be awake. Half an hour ago we did the whole nap thing- we had lunch and then went to the bedroom, where I told him to lay down and he started rolling around in bed and protesting.
Normally he protests for about ten minutes before he winds down and falls asleep, but today things went a little differently.
3:00- I lay Khalid down in the bed and then take position in the rocking chair. As per tradition, I pick up a book and start reading.
Khalid whines a bit and rolls around.
3:15- Khalid goes quiet. I assume he's asleep and continue reading. It's Going Solo, by Roald Dahl, and as I get to the part where Dahl describes the incidence of the cook's wife being carried away by a lion, I look up and realize that I can't see Khalid. I can, however, see a pile of pillows in Khalid's bed. Khalid doesn't have pillows in his bed. In order for him to be hiding under a pile of them, he must first have crawled out of his bed into mine, grabbed all three of them, and then carried them back, all without me noticing.
Also, pillows don't normally have feet.
I lift one of the pillows and see Khalid, grinning excitedly at me. I try not to laugh (which is one of the harder parts of parenting that those books never tell you about) and I take the pillows and put them back on my bed. Khalid protests and starts whining again.
I sit down on the bed, which is closer than the rocking chair, to prevent further such secretive escapes. I resume reading. The cook's wife is put down by the lion unharmed. She is wearing a red dress with white dots on it, and now she must wash it because there is lion saliva on it. Roald Dahl watches as the cook and his wife do a joyful dance on the immense brown plain and suddenly Khalid has gone quiet again. I look up from my book and see the top of Khalid's head and his wide, unsleepy eyes watching me from just over the top of the bed. Then he ducks down and they disappear.
A few seconds pass. Roald Dahl marvels at the strangeness of the situation- an old lion came out of the jungle, picked the cook's wife up in its mouth and was carrying her back, gently and unharmed, to the jungle. Dahl is paid five pounds to write his account for the newspaper. Other hunters write to the paper and offer theories on the strange incidence. Khalid's head comes up slowly again. I attempt to look stern.
I cave and burst out laughing. Khalid realizes that he's off the hook, and he jumps into my bed and we have a good laugh a roll-around.
So that was the end of round one. Round two will begin as son as soon as I finish typing this blog. It's 4:10 now, and Khalid is starting to rub his eyes and pull at his ears. I'm going to pick him up and put him in bed again. I wonder what happens to Roald Dahl next.
I would like to believe that my home is a warm and inviting place, but I would prefer to believe that has nothing to do with my resident population of spiders. Really. Big. Spiders.
To be fair, there's only been one so big I remember it in capital letters, but I digress- the Really Big Spider was just the big slow goon in the mafia of creepy, crafty, smaller spiders who are trying to muscle their way on to my turf. And they bite.
I would like to believe that the four spider bites on my arm are in no way connected to contact with actual live spiders, because I don't know if I could handle the realization that there were at least four spiders on my arm last night, or maybe one spider with impulse problems and four lapses of self control located between my wrist and my elbow- I don't know. I don't want to know. What I do want to know is- when do I get my super powers? I think I may have missed out on something here, because Spiderman only had to get bitten once, and I'm guessing that his one lil radioactive nibble didn't itch half as much as the four non-nuclear bright red dots on my arm.
If I'm going to have spiders crawling on me, I might as well have super powers.
*waits*
I'm not sure what Peter Parker had been up to when he was bitten, so I'm not sure what sort of radiation I should be trying to bask in. However, I do know that all it takes is some sort of energy field.
Once upon a time I joined Facebook, but only because Owlie made me. She did so by insisting that I visit her page to see her pictures rather than make her email them to me as attachments.
So later upon a time, after I had joined and gone through the various stages:
Denial (I don't need a profile, I'm not really here!)
Acceptance (Ok, I'll fill in the box that asks for my gender...)
Falling Into It Face-first (WHEE!)
I am now at a point where I'm finding my old high school friends. Bear in mind that it's been Ten Whole Years (henceforth referred to as TWY) since I graduated, so when people ask me where I've been and what I've been up to, I gots alot of explaining to do.
So here, dear Facebook world, is what I've been up to since highschool, in blog form, and in case anyone else asks, just send them the link. Thanks.
Having graduated from high school with both High Honors and Delusions of Grandeur, I enrolled in the School of Hard Knocks, courses in which have led me through adventures in journalism, English teaching, and now, Graphic Design, PR and Corporate Communications. Basically, I speaka da English, and using my trusty Lappy 486, I maka pretty stuff.
At some point, I met and proposed to (yes, I proposed) to the funniest, sweetest, most eccentric goofball of a husband-HF, and three years and two criminally adorable children later, I live in the United Arab Emirates.
Along the way, I have also managed to:
-Successfully serve my appendix an eviction notice -Busticate my knee in a car accident
Currently I am:
- Huffing and puffing my way through Shotokan classes with HF - Working as a consultant - Eating watermelon
That about covers it for me.
So, what have you been up to for the last ten years?
I must have the only two year old in the world who can cry so long and so hard that he gives himself a nosebleed. Or starts hyperventilating. Anyone else have anything similar?
So Khalid still doesn't talk. At all. He doesn't even say Mama. I mean, he does say things like akichigaa and gagin-gagin and mamamamamamaaaaaaa, but nothing with meaning and context.
I'm not worried about his development, just impatient to be able to communicate with him. All of the recommendations about helping ease sibling rivalry and smoothly introducing a new baby to your toddler involve communicating with your child and getting them to help you care for the baby. Multiple mothers, including all you lovely people in my comment box (I apologize for not being able to reply most of the time) recommend the same thing- let your toddler help and the problem will resolve itself.
I completely agree, but 'please bring me the powder' is about as meaningful to Khalid as akichigaa is to me. We're not speaking the same language, and I know he gets frustrated trying to communicate what he wants. I end up handing him everything on the dining table only to find out he wants something from the window-sill behind it.
So how do you involve a non-verbal toddler in caring for a newborn? As it is right now, Khalid probably thinks his sister's name is Gently. He approaches her, raises his hand, and is greeted with "Khalid jaan, gently. Gently... no whacking! Pat her gently, gently!" I wouldn't be surprised if it was his first word, heh.
Ah well, Iman is doing well Alhamdulillah, and seems happy and amused at things in general when she's awake. Alhamdulillah that newborns spend so much time sleeping, it gives me time to lavish some attention on Khalid when I'm not running after him and trying to put the house back together in his wake.
Gots to go, both kids are asleep and their mother needs a shower.
Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah. We’ve been home a week and Iman is healthy, happy, and adorable in the squashy, pink, surprised-looking way that newborns are so good at. Khalid, on the other hand, is having a rough time, as we seem to have brought home fierce competition for his Momma’s attention.
When I change Iman’s diaper, it’s with Khalid trying to push me away from the changing station. When I nurse her, her tries to pull her out of my lap, and when she cries, he puts his hands over his ears and starts crying too. They take turns waking up throughout the day and night- Five minutes into Khalid’s nap, Iman woke up. An hour and a half later, Iman went back to sleep. Half an hour after that, Khalid woke up. So we’ve had a rough week, but we’re learning how to cope.
I am determined not only to cope though, but to succeed. Succeed at what? Ah, now there’s the paradigm shift- a paradigm shift being a radical change of perspective- The standard of a productive, successful day once included a clean house, a freshly-cooked meal, a well maintained toddler and at least two hours of work. But that was the standard for Abez and Khalid. The standard for Abez and Khalid and Iman involves a house, a meal, and two alive children.
Work is not a possibility. Getting dressed is optional. Lunch today was peanut butter.
So, according to the new standards, we’re not doing half bad! Look, we’ve even found a little time to write a blog! (Iman is asleep, Khalid is being fed breakfast) We’ve also found time to dig out our box of pre-maternity wardrobe, try things on, and then be both horrified and amazed- (Horrified that we seem to be so very far away from buttoning anything, amazed that we were able to just a few months back.)
But I digress- it’s been a bumpy ride, but we’re moving forward Alhamdulillah.
So I spent another night in the hospital, as the doctors tend to recommend that you do when you're in early labor. And then we escaped. And then today we went back for our CTG appointment, and the doctors again said, you're in early labor and strongly recommended we stay. And you know what we said? RUN AWAY!!!! I live ten minutes from the hospital, and if I'm going to languish in the labor twilight zone, I'm going to languish here at home!
Yes, I am in early labor, no, we have no idea how long this could take. Technically, I've been in early labor since the 23rd. I feel immense, and today the consultant who saw me asked the nurse if I was carrying twins. No, no twins, just one very stubborn little baby!
Khalid spent the weekend with HF's parents, who have been both delighted and exhausted to have his crazy-pants company. HF has gone to retrieve him now, and when he returns, we will finish watching Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. HF bought me the entire Miyazaki collection so I have stuff to watch in the hospital. As usual, HF is my hero. :)
They'll be back soon, so I need to go straighten up while I still can and then get some food ready for Khalid. Keep us in your prayers, and in the mean time, have some Monty Python.
Abez Is... 
