99 bottles of milk in the freezer

A fridge full with little Avent cups of extracted milk.

+

An upcoming overnight hospital stay.

+

General anesthesia with a 24-hour ban on breastfeeding.

+

A 4 - month old baby who refuses to drink from a bottle.

=
....?

Correct!

99 bottles of milk in the freezer.

To say I'm worried is a major understatement.

Don't tell me yet again "If she's hungry, she'll take the bottle", because so far she's able to thrive perfectly well when missing two feedings, but will scream her head of when she sees a bottle within one 10 feet of her. And after the horror we put her through, she'll attack my breasts like she hasn't eaten in a week.

We've already been practicing for a month now. I am hope this week will be turn around week.

I've asked the hospital for the possibility of changing the anesthesia. But the hospital says the only way they'll do it, is with general anesthesia.

I feel sorry for little Roo, for my husband and MIL who will take care of 'little miss nursing only' and little Monkey who will miss out on his normal daily fun because people are trying to get his little sister to take the bottle already.

And I feel sorry for ME, having to extract milk 24 hours in a room full of men.
(yes, yes, there will probably be some sort of curtain, but still)

And your comments made me think of something. Though my health insurance (I did not get an extra care program) doesn't pay for a solitary room... I am going to find out if there are possibilities to pay the extra fee myself. It's probably just one night.

On yesterday's post, some of you commented on the topic of health insurance. Basic health insurance is the same for everyone who lives here. I believe (but I am not responsible for the finances around here) you pay about 200 dollars a month to be granted all the medical help you need. The basic health insurance is mandatory for every Dutch citizen. However, every insurance company has optional extra care insurances.
A solitary room is not normal here (though I wish it was) so basic insurance doesn't cover it.

Hospital list: night gown, tooth brush, pork chop

I am a prude.

I think.

I just found out my hospital attends to their patients in mixed rooms. I'm a confident, young, modern woman, but that *slightly* shocked me.

Are mixed rooms in hospitals common?

I don't know why I'm surprised.

I should have known this was the way to go in a country where (among other things) tolerance and openness about subjects like sexuality are considered great goods. I think tolerance is important too, but I tend to believe we're exaggerating a bit in this part of the world. An example: a couple of months ago, an animal rights activist tried to streak during a the taping of a very popular amusement show. Not only was the part aired where the streaker showed up, the TV host actually ripped off the only piece of cloth and revealed his birthday suit. All this while making sexual remarks at the streaker. (Leaving Janet Jackson's nipple totally biting the dust). Though a funny bar story, in my opinion totally unappropriated to air on a early Saturday night family show with children in the audience and children watching at home. The TV-host's action was applauded by a lot of people. To me it was a nail on chalkboard, that proved yet again, the Dutch culture isn't mine.

Back to the hospital. Briefly I thought of looking for another hospital, but that would mean postponing the surgery which is just silly for a reason born out of the desire to have some privacy.

I'm hoping the gynecology patients have their rooms on a separate ward. And last I checked, gynecology was a typical female party, so you know, that hopefully means no men in the room/ ward.

And how bad can men in hospital room be, right? I mean, they're obviously not feeling well and most likely, they'll have more to worry about.. than little ol' me.

And what are the changes I get wheeled into a room and there sits...

Vegan TV streaker.

"Please do not show me your private parts mister streaker man (or I'll eat a pork chop)"

I excel in abstinence

That's what the title of this post almost was. Ehm. But now I guess it is. But that's not what I was trying to say (hey, English is my second language). What I wanted to say was: I excel in absence.

(Not in ENGLISH clearly. )

I got a new position at my organization last week. My manager asked my to apply for the job. Yes, even though I wasn't at the office for the last 5 months. It means I can continue the work I have been doing temporarily. But now for more money and permanent. Though I am a excited about it (and about not returning to my old job as an editor after my leave), you'll have to read my previous post if you want my true feelings about work.

Anyway.

Absence/ abstinence. Confusing. Often I have to correct my English before publishing a post.

A couple of weeks ago, I almost posted about our dirt hole. MEANING the hole in the garden (where now a beautiful bathes in the spring sun). Not realizing a dirt hole is in fact something else and now I might get an awful lot of pervy Google search results.

Keeping up with all your blogs, I often learn new words. Some I forget, some I remember and start using myself. I have a new favorite English word: eyeballing. I came across it in American recipes, often in combination with the use of herbs and spices. First I ended up in the emergency room where nurses removed chili pepper and salt from my eyes. (excuse the lame jokes, I have no idea what is wrong with me today) But now I eyeball all my herbs and spices. Yes, I am that confident about cooking.

I learn new words, but there are a couple of things that won't stick. Like the use of than and then. I have to look it up every freak'n time. And the word "width". I misspell it always before correcting. It drives me insane.

Speaking of witdh, withd, width, I lack width. Meaning, I am back to size 4, and still dropping weight. It's probably due to nursing (combined with the fact that Roo has an intolerance for lactose, so I have eliminated all milk products from my diet). Any advise on not losing anymore weight?

A last note on absence (if you're looking for a theme in this post, you can stop, it's absent). My surgery is scheduled in 2 weeks. I am frantically enjoying every moment I can with my children and husband because there is this lunatic part of me that things I will die or that the surgery will be more than just removing my ovarian cysts. So you know, I come back from the hospital depressed with hot flashes and menopause mood swings. I know it makes no sense to be scared like that. Call me a drama queen. I know I am. But I truly want to enjoy my kids and excel in parenthood in stead of excelling in absence from my family because of the surgery.

On a lighter note (final note, you have got to believe me, I did not intend to end this post sad, I am not sad, just rambling) go have fun. It's spring. I hear the playground calling my name. Monkey will wake up in just a bit. He'll demand a peanut butter sandwich and then we're off to enjoy the gorgeous spring weather.

For those dirty minds that only read this entire post just to know about the abstinence and my sexual relationship: get your mind out of the gutter already! :)

This just sucks ass

Cabin crew prepare for landing. The end of my 6-month stay at home mom-flight is in sight, destination: work. I am slowly descending to the 9 to 5 - level, causing my ears heart to hurt. The flight attendants collect the empty styrofoam cups used to hold two servings of nauseating tea and watery coffee. The screen shows how many miles days I have left before landing and a little information on my destination.

I know, soon I will...

Write press releases, in stead of...

doing crafts with Monkey.

Give communication and PR-advise, in stead of

doing tummy time with Roo.

Attend press meetings, in stead of...

watching my children bond.

Attend office meetings, in stead of...

playing giggles with Roo.

Drink horrible office coffee, in stead of

checking new rides with Monkey.

Travel by too crowded public transport twice a day, in stead of...

letting Monkey drive me with his favorite playground fire truck.

Eat lunch with my colleagues, in stead of...

harvesting lunch with monkey.

And so on.. and so on...

I will only work 3 days a week. I know I'm living the good life. There are many women out there who have to work 5 days a week to provide a good life for their kids. Some work 7 days a week to provide a roof and food. And than there are mothers who don't have jobs at all but are poor and don't even sleep under the same roof every day.

But I just don't care about anyone else at this point. ONE months left until I've landed back in the work arena. And it sucks ass.

So for now, I'll just ignore the fasten seatbelt sign. I will not put my seat in the upright position. In stead, I put back the earplugs to watch another movie, I'll order a Chardonnay and tax free giant Toblerone and enjoy this last part of the flight in every way I can.

How I will be remembered in 2384

Three Star Trek-ish men in white lab coats are watching while a DNA - enhanced robot digs a hole in what used to be my garden.

They cheer when the robot finally stumbles upon my time capsule.

The robot climbs out of the 16 feet hole I dug on a cool summer evening, and gives the capsule to one of the men. The man now holding the capsule, handles it as if it were an ancient dinosaur bone. He sits on the side of the hole, letting his legs dangle freely. While the other men command their paper thin Mac books to fly from their suitcases and land in their laps, the man opens the time capsule.

With carefulness I've only seen when handling my deceased grandma's china, they go through my stuff. Jotting down value, purpose, dates and several characteristics of the 21st century.

Though pleased with themselves they found this capsule, in horror they take out two black things with holes in them. They exchange looks, nod and one of the men with the levitating Mac books, says "Not thou, Nadine" as he writes in his Excel 2400 document: "2008: the year fashion sense died."

The men wrap their investigation up. Thrilled about finding their treasure and disappointed about their ancestor's choice in fashion. Knowing better than to try if the Godiva Key Lime Chocolate Truffles are still eatable, one of the men puts one in his mouth anyway. Choking on the deceased chocolate and with disgust, he tosses Monkey's new black Crocs back in the hole.

They laugh and then they set up camp, using my nursing bras as a multi-person tent.

Monkey in his new black Crocs digging a hole for our time capsule in 85 F plus heat. OK, that's a lie. That is not our garden (I wish, our garden is stamp-size). This is actually a local playground.

Hey, that's MY fear

We went to a petting farm yesterday. Many goats, cows, pigs, bunnies and ponies. Monkey insisted on riding on a horse. So his grandmother got a ticket and he went to wait in line. When it was his turn, a pony (or a horse? really, this city girl can not tell the difference) arrived, but it was a slightly bigger pony as the others we had seen. The young girl walking with the bigger pony sees our little toddler and smiles: "Awww,
you probably want to wait a minute for a small pony to arrive".

"Yes" we all agree. It makes sense. Small kid. Small pony.

Than it occurs to me. We're deciding this based on OUR fears.

So I change my mind: "If he's OK with it, we can let him try to sit on the big one. It's not THAT big."

And he loved it. A LOT!

We were totally assuming he would have the small/ big horse fear we all seemed to have (at least two of us have this irrational fear of big horses.)

More pictures of our sun drenched weekend:

At the playground

A picnic!

Roo, ready to hit her daddy with her tiny fist

Roo, eating her toy Tiger. She's a violent little baby, isn't she.

Monkey, on his new ride! It was a babe magnet. (I KNOW his hair needs a cut. He's going to the hairdresser tomorrow.)

My handsome hubby

A car cow wash!