Shots & Triceps

Last night I completed the PS Chest, Shoulders & Triceps workout. I got all excited and moved my weights to our bedroom where Drew's weights are, changed into a cute little workout outfit and waited for him to get home. Moments later he texted me saying he was still on a roof somewhere and would not be on his way for another hour. Sigh. Ok. Can't really be mad at the guy for, uh, working to support his family or anything. I was just reaaaaaaaally excited to work out together. Maybe Friday.

Anyway! The workout was great and I'm really impressed with how quickly it flew by. The legs and abs workout was over an hour long, and this one was something like 46 minutes, but they were over in no time. I'm especially happy because this workout really targeted my triceps, which is a hard-to-work area for me. I never quite feel the burn like I want to, but the french presses, dips off the step with a barbell and skull-crushers got me good. Friday I'll finish things up with Biceps, Back & Abs.

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Today is E's 1-year well-baby checkup, which means one thing: SHOTS. The appointment isn't until 1 o'clock this afternoon, and this is both good and bad. Bad because we have to freaking wait half a day to get it over with already, good because at least I get E in a good mood for half a day. Bad because this just might interfere with his usual afternoon nap (God save us all!), good because maybe he'll just tucker out in the car on the way home and completely forget that mommy subjected him to such cruelty by the time we get home. I sure hope so.

As your kid gets older, the shots really do seem to get worse, for you and for them. When they're newborns, all red and wrinkly, they hardly know what hit them. Then your baby gets a little older, and the smiles come, and when that needle is plunged into that chunky little thigh, there's an obvious change of mood. And then, you and your wee one develop a bond, a relationship, you might even call yourselves friends. And your perfect little cherub is laughing and babbling and squirming around on that examining room butcher paper and then suddenly: STAB!!! There's always that moment of silence where the pain hasn't quite registered but you know the flood gates are about to open. Their eyes frantically search for you, YOU, the RESPONSIBLE PARTY, why did you let this happen? Then they stare at you in shock as their eyes well up with tears, which burns a little hole into your very soul. For the rest of the day you are on their shit list, at the very top of their shit list (because let's be real, how many people can a baby actually have on their shit list? Mom, and the dog. That's about it.) So anyway, yeah. I wonder if the doctor would let me hide under the table while E is getting his shots? I just don't think it's fair to have to take the blame. Gah, I hope I don't cry. I hear this new doctor we're going to is really smokin' hot.

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My awesome and amazing friend Megan (shall we call her double A Megan?) (who does not have a blog, I don't understand why, if she did I guarantee you'd much prefer reading anything she had to write about over my own nonsensical ramblings here) (note to Megan: get a blog, asap!) sent me a link to this site. It's interesting to see how much and how little you can eat for 200 calories. Just a little food for thought, heh, no pun intended but sort of because I am funny and clever and totally made that up myself. Riiiiiiight.

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Yesterday Ethan and I went up to his future daycare center to turn in some final paperwork and discuss possible starting dates. I can't tell you how great I feel about this place! I love everything about it and the people that work there are incredible. Ethan lights up every time we walk through the door and totally flirts with all the chicks, so if you see Ethan on t.v. in the very near future as one of those kids that had an affair with his teacher, well, I totally called it. I am 99.9% certain that he will have no trouble whatsoeva adjusting to daycare. *I* will be the one that is heartbroken and will cry until my face is unrecognizably puffy. Ethan will probably be glad to be rid of me, like, finally.