It may have been six weeks ago now when I was finishing up some work in my home office around 5:30 pm. The little angel was watching iCarly like she incessantly does now even though she has seen every episode on streaming Netflix at least six times. Beloved was making dinner. Homemade french fries, to be exact. With a mandoline slicer that looked something like this.

I heard some obscenities, but quiet ones.

"What's up, babe?"

"I cut myself. Bad."

"Do you need to get stitches?"

"Yup."

I swear. I can't believe how calm the conversation was. I turned off the TV and stuffed a baffled little angel in the car as he went back into the house to grab a rag, which he wrapped around his pinkie finger.

I drove him to urgent care. When we walked in, I told the receptionist he was bleeding.

She looked at him. "Can you see bone?"

He nodded.

HE NODDED.

My mouth dropped open. They took him in the back behind a curtain, where they pronounced it too serious for urgent care.

At this point, I was really trying not to vomit and totally glad he hadn't shown it to me. And I was also getting pretty concerned about the pain that would kick in at any minute when the shock wore off.

Back in the car, I drove to the closest emergency room, which was packed to the gills with coughing people who looked like they'd been there for hours. He sat down, and I put a piece of paper in a black box, which seemed like quite possibly the most archaic method of telling someone your husband had sliced his finger off known to man.

I thought about giving him Advil, but dude, what if they gave him narcotics later? So I didn't. Argh.

By 6:30, the little angel was starving and Beloved insisted I take her to get something to eat. I poked my head back in the back, where the nurse eyed me disdainfully. "My husband is still bleeding," I said. Aren't ERs supposed to triage Massive Headwound Harry? Seems like every time I take the little angel to the ER for an ear infection, we get in line behind people currently losing platelets.

As I opened the door to go outside, the skies opened up with a downpour. So I ran to the car while the little angel stood under the overhang. I am not kidding, by the time I got to the car, I was literally able to ring out my t-shirt. I am telling you, this experience was fun for everyone involved.

We drove home, and I made three things of Easy Mac. In the car. Back to the ER. This time I brought reading material.

Still there at 8:30, when Beloved insisted I take the little angel home and give her a bath. So I did. And we went back when he texted and said he was behind the curtain. By the time they released him, it was around 10 pm and he had four internal stitches and four external stitches and an open wound because apparently he had lost the tip of his finger. Actually, I think I lost it, because the first time I came home, I put all the potatoes down the garbage disposal and threw away the evil slicer and most likely PART OF MY HUSBAND'S THUMB.

So that was like six weeks ago. Every time we go to the pool, he has to wear what I swear looks like a finger condom.

Yet another product I didn't know existed.

Practice safe showering.

I could go on.

As the finger healed, the open wound grew shut and this crazy hood of dead skin started separating from the new finger. It was like he was molting. I was watching the entire series of Battlestar Gallactica during this process, and let me tell you, I was all this is how the cylons evolved. Totally creepy yet fascinating and really a miracle -- the healing process is pretty amazing.

Then the other night, it either fell off or he cut it off but he didn't tell me and I really don't want to know.

But it's almost healed. And now that pinkie is almost perfectly square at the top and a few millimeters shorter than the other pinkie.

So I bought him these.

He wore them last night. Chop, chop!

The end.

I started working with Erin, who's known in the blogosphere and perhaps circles other than Spain as Queen of Spain, in November 2009. We only got to work together for a few months before she had to go on disability because she kept having organs removed. I only wish I were making that up. Because she has lupus.

We never got to be face-to-face co-workers, since she lives in LA and I live in Kansas City, but I talked to her every day and we chatted about kids and balance and making lunches, and so it was such a huge shock when suddenly the chats were about hospitals and treatments and her having to pretty much stand still for a long time to get her health back.

She doesn't know I'm writing this, and she probably won't figure it out for a few hours because Erin's in Washington, DC, today, back in the White House where she belongs, talking policy and Twitter and all things social media. I'm watching eagerly from the sidelines hoping she feels well, hoping her meds hold, hoping she gets enough rest, hoping nothing goes wrong.

I hope it most of all because Erin deserves to play professionally again.

There are all kinds of people, and most people I know aren't crazy enmeshed with what they do for a living, but Erin is one of those people who makes me want to try harder because she is so incredibly passionate about what she does and what she believes in. I think in many ways though lupus is not the best thing to happen to Erin, Erin may be the best thing to happen to lupus, because if anyone can get the word out, she can.

BlogHer '11 is in a month, and I'm signed up to give blood at the BlogHer '11 blood drive. I'm hoping I can finally, finally hug Erin instead of carrying a picture of her head around on a stick.

 
(Get your own damn badge this year, lady.)

I'm so happy for you today, Erin. I hope you're feeling your power. Because we are.

This morning, a friend alerted me to an article on NPR's Shots blog. The headline: To Curb Childhood Obesity, Experts Say Keep Fat Babies in Check.

It immediately pissed me off, of course. This formerly disordered eater worried incessantly about my fat baby girl. The girl people stopped me on the street to comment about. I've been watching with interest the comments on a post on BlogHer about fat talk around children. Some people are adamently opposed (as am I) and some people think it's our job as parents to limit kids' eating and make sure they don't gain too much weight.

My daughter has been "normal" weight since she was about two, and she's always been able to stop eating when she's full -- even if she's halfway through a chocolate shake. I've always praised her for stopping when she's full, but I've never stopped her from eating dessert. I don't want her to have a weird relationship with food. I just want her to eat when she's hungry, stop when she's full, and mix in some vegetables.

However, the NPR article was talking about babies and toddlers, and here are some of the tips they gave:

Cut down the time children spend watching TV or using the computer or cell phone.

We are talking about babies and toddlers. My baby was off the charts for her first full year, and I swear to you that she only used the computer or her cell phone for an hour a day.

Make sure kids are getting the right food portions for their age.

I monitored my daughter's milk intake like a hawk for that first six months. I don't care how hungry she was! I pulled that bottle or boob out of her mouth the second she hit her age-appropriate limit.

So parents and child care providers can do small kids a favor by not letting them get too big, even if that means turning off Nickelodeon.

I'm working on a post for BlogHer (I'll share a link here when it goes up) regarding an interview I recently did with a PPD/ED specialist at UNC. We got to talking about body types and how they impact eating disorder recovery. She told me some of her patients have had to eat thousands of calories a day to recover from anorexia. I gained weight very quickly just by returning to 1200 calories a day -- what would be considered dieting for most women. "I'm a very efficient food storer," I told her. "I would do well in a survival situation. I'm just not often in them."

We talked about how every body is different; every body processes food differently. And I am really sick of the media admonishing new mothers and bequeathing upon them personal responsibility for every aspect of their children's health. The degree of personal responsibility is getting ridiculous.

Yes, duh, parents shouldn't give their toddlers a straight Diet Coke, tequila and Spam diet. Yes, of course we should encourage our kids to get outside and play. But hello, world -- some kids are genetically hardwired to be a little bigger. Sometimes they slim down naturally with age, sometimes they don't. It may have everything to do with what they eat and! It may have nothing to do with what they eat. Weighing them and admonishing them and making a big deal about their weight when they are eating the same or less as the stick-skinny kid sitting next to them in the cafeteria is not helpful. In fact, it can be extremely harmful.

And. Telling a nervous new mother that she holds the keys to every aspect of her child's health -- that it is all her fault if the baby is fat -- is a great way to program a weight-watching, harping mother who will ultimately give her child a complex about food.

I really wish the media would take more responsibility for objective reporting when it comes to health news. In politics, we generally get two sides of the story. These health studies are so one-sided, so judgy. Yes, there is a childhood obesity problem in the U.S. -- I acknowledge that wholly. But I look around my racially diverse but economically homogenous neighborhood, and I don't see one obese child. Not one. I go to Midtown Kansas City, where it's racially diverse and economically diverse, and I see tons. In addition to genetics and diet, childhood obesity has a lot to do with economics -- whether kids have access to sports and camps that allow them to run and play, whether they have access to yards and bikes and streets safe to ride bikes on. Whether they have access to fruits and vegetables that don't come out of a very salty can. Whether they have something to do besides watch TV while mom and dad work.

Childhood obesity isn't necessarily something we can blame on personal responsibility of the parents. We, as a nation, owe kids safe streets and bikes and subsidized, exercise-and-fresh-air-oriented childcare and camps. We as a nation put everything on working parents -- we don't help out with childcare, we don't help out with healthy food, we don't help out with transportation to camps and sports for kids whose parents don't have cars or can't get off work to take them.

There are two sides to every story. One side of this story is personal responsibility of the parents to not let their toddlers exist on a steady diet of Ho-Hos. The other side of the story is access. We like to ignore that side, because it's a much harder thing to face. The media needs to start covering that side of the story, because until we acknowledge it, we won't do anything about it.

I've been to urgent care twice and the ER once in the past week with my family. Nobody died (though Beloved's going to have a scar), but after a long stretch of no doctors, we were due.

Yesterday morning the little angel woke up clawing at her neck, which was fiery red and covered with bumps. I immediately thought she'd gotten into poison ivy down at the lake. Hydrocortizone didn't work, so I reached for the only thing that saved me from insanity when I had chiggar bites last time -- baking soda.

As we drove to the pediatrician's office for early morning walk-in hours, she complained only slightly as large clumps of baking soda fell off her neck onto her clothes.

The examination room was decorated like an ocean, just like my girl's room. There were metal crabs hanging from the walls, just like hers. I wondered where they shopped. I liked the seahorse.

The pediatrician told us it wasn't poison ivy, just some sort of bug bite -- or rather, about 35 of some sort of bug bite. Just on her neck. Totally weird. What kind of bug? Did it really matter? No.

So she prescribed some steroid cream to put on it and recommended Benadryl or Zyrtec -- which I totally could've given my girl when I first noticed the bumps on Sunday. Could've spared her a day of frantic itching.

Now, I realize this doesn't make me a bad mother. I'm not beating myself up over forgetting Benadryl. But sometimes I wonder where my common sense went. Did it get stuffed down under Internet Volume or Job Stress or Why Haven't I Heard From Those Agents Yet Worries? Is it hiding under my swimming suit? Did I sell it at the garage sale last weekend?

Why didn't I think of this completely obvious solution myself? Damn.

---

Speaking of novels, I was totally jealous of Jane Austen when I read my last BlogHer Book Club selection, A Jane Austen Education. Review (and jealousy explanation) here.

Hi, I'm Rita, and I like to exercise. 

There, I've said it.

I will actually create chores just so I can exercise while doing them. Which explains why I shoveled the back deck while it was still snowing yesterday.

I've been working out at least three times a week since I was 17 years old. I'm coming up on 20 years of jogging, elliptical machines, stairmasters, step aerobics, kickboxing and Jane Fonda. I did Buns of Steel. I did Tae Bo. I've seen beautiful people sweat near ocean backdrops to the Foo Fighters. I've run 5ks and some-more-ks, though I'm generally not fond of running and will never even try to do a marathon, because I happen to like my flat feet to remain attached to my body. I've run bleachers. I've climbed all the flights of stairs in my office building. I've attempted gymnastics, Pilates and the full fish pose.

And I'm so bored.

I'm bored with my workouts. I alternate between fighting the others for equipment at the tiny workout room sponsored by my housing association (for which I'm very thankful, trust me, but there are only six cardio machines for many, many, MANY people), doing exercise DVDs at home and shoveling snow.

This weekend, there were two bouts of snow shoveling and a trip to Tunnel Voyage (you try hauling your 35-year-old ass two stories up a McDonald's-Playland-style hamster tunnel for an hour and see how you feel). Also, I purchased myself some new workout DVDs and signed up for belly dancing aerobics. (Stay tuned for my month-long series to start on Thursdays this week.)(Here. At this blog.)(Because I feel like it, it's January, and I'm bored.)

I'm not going to review the DVDs, but suffice it to say none of them involve Jillian Michaels or her rock-hard abs. One is a crazy-intense-looking cardio tape and the other is a ballet workout. Ever since the little angel started ballet lessons, I've found myself longing for more leg strength. It would be truly awesome to be able to hold my leg out perpendicular from my body. Because then every time I had a bad day I could hold my leg out and be like YEAH, WORLD, BUT CAN  YOU DO THIS?

So I've done one of the ballet workouts. It consisted of floor barre and standing workouts. It is fortunate I took ballet in my childhood, because the very-fancy-sounding narrator never explained how to do any of the moves, all of which were described by their ballet names in French. And the mute dancers never explained them either or demonstrated them beforehand. Which is why I fell on my face once and nearly lost an eye to the TV console another time. However, after I was done, I realized I had that slow-burn yoga feeling and was genuinely very tired with a fast-beating heart, though I don't actually remember breaking a sweat. Weird.

We'll see if I can walk tomorrow, because it's supposed to snow again on Wednesday. I may have to dig myself out so I can make it to belly dancing.

Have I mentioned yet how much I love my new job?

OKAYILOVEMYNEWJOB.

Here's one reason why: I get to focus on issues that matter to women. On Friday, we found out that Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius is available at 8:30 a.m. Central (9:30 Eastern, 7:30 Mountain, 6:30 -- eek -- Pacific) (as in RIGHT NOW) to answer our questions about healthcare reform.

Over the weekend, we rushed to collect your questions for Sebelius, and after hearing us call out for questions on Twitter, Facebook and BlogHer, you responded.

And then D.C. became buried in a snowcalypse.

But the White House? They don't care about little things like snowstorms. Sec. Sebelius is still answering questions like the good Kansan she is. (Go, Kansas.) Listen to her healthcare reform live feed on BlogHer with BlogHer's Morra Aarons Mele now.

If BlogHer's stream doesn't work for you, you can also watch on the White House's Facebook page.

This morning I grabbed a new bottle of saline solution and popped a disposable contact into my eye.

Immediately, THE BURNING! THE PAIN! I'M BLIND!   

(I just finished reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.)

Howling, I immediately began rinsing my eyeball with water, trying to float my contact out of my face, while Beloved, confused, grabbed the bottle.

"This isn't saline solution," he said. "This is activator."

OH JESUS! IT BUUUURRRRRNNNNNNSSSSSS!

Moaning, I found myself hopping up and down as I tried to convince my eye to open so I could attempt to scrape plastic off its burning surface. This did not go well. Beloved tried to get me to hold my eye open, but I was terrified he would poke his finger in my eye and then I WOULD HAVE TO KILL HIM.

Five minutes, about a gallon of water and a mini bottle full of real saline solution later, the burning began to subside, and I *think* my contact must have floated out in all the ruckus, because I don't see it or feel it anywhere, but of course this feeds into my ongoing paranoia that I have contacts stuck in my eyes at all times and just don't know it until the infection does truly blind me.

So if you see me on the street today, I'll be the one with glasses, no make-up and a giant, bloodshot left eye.

Hi, Monday. You bitch.

Scene: 9:20 a.m. The pediatrician's office. I got home from my business trip to Boston at 2:45 this morning.

Nurse: Blah blah blah THIMEROSAL-FREE INDIVIDUALLY PACKAGED INJECTION blah blah NO MORE SEASONAL FLU INJECTIONS blah blah SEASONAL FLU MIST blah blah TWO INJECTIONS BUT DON'T KNOW IF WE'LL GET ENOUGH

Little Angel: Mommy! I don't want the shot! Mist! MIST!

Nurse: Blah blah CAN'T DO TWO MISTS AT THE SAME TIME blah blah WORRIED ABOUT SEASONAL FLU NOT YET PEAKED blah blah CAN GET SWINE FLU INJECTION AND SEASONAL FLU MIST AT SAME TIME blah blah TODAY blah blah ANOTHER APPOINTMENT

Me: (God, I am so tired. AM SO TIRED! WHAT IS SHE SAYING?)

Nurse: Blah blah SO WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

Little Angel: MOMMY NO SHOT!

Me: (Don't want to come back. Need seasonal flu? Seriously? She hasn't had seasonal flu shot in three years. She didn't get one last year. Didn't get the flu last year. Uses WAY TOO MUCH HAND SANITIZER. She said thimerosal-free, right? That's good, right? The little angel is too old too worry about that, isn't she?)

Nurse: ??

Little Angel: ??

Me: (?????? How did this day start, again? Did yesterday end?)

Me: Let's do the swine flu shot and the seasonal flu mist today. That's it. That's my decision.

Little Angel: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

The nurse leaves. Returns a few minutes later carrying shot and mist. The little angel immediately begins to shriek and squirm. Nurse shoves mist up her nose. Little angel screams.

Little Angel: NO! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!! MOMMMYYYYY!!!!

The little angel begins to buck. The nurse gives me a determined look. I pull down the little angel's jeans feeling like an abusive mother. I hate that I have to pull down her pants for this shot. I hate the idea of her seeing me pull down her pants against her will. It feels so wrong. Imagine the little angel in therapy later. The nurse gets her legs between the nurse's knees and I hold the little angel's hands.

Me: Honey, I love you so much. I don't want you to get really sick. This is my job.

Me: (I AM SO TIRED. THIS IS SUCH SHIT. HATE THIS.)

The nurse holds the syringe poised.

Me: You are going to have to go fast.

Little Angel: NO! DON'T DO IT!

The nurse jabs the little angel's leg. There is no blood.

Nurse: Where is it? It's not even bleeding.

I release the little angel's arms and plop her to the ground. She pulls up her jeans, looking shocked.

Me: All done! All done!

Me: (IS THERE A NAP IN MY FUTURE, PLEASE GOD?)

Little Angel: Mommy, that didn't even hurt. Was that needle even sharp? I don't think it was sharp. Huh.

Me: (Don't Google this when you get home. RITA, BACK AWAY FROM THE GOOGLE!)

I hate vaccinations. Hate them. But this one? I think was worth it.

Yesterday, I had the privilege of listening in on BlogHer and Sunlight Foundation's conference call with Speaker Nancy Pelosi. The call lasted about an hour, and there were so many questions I wanted to ask. I didn't even have time for one, though I thought the other callers asked some good ones.

As Speaker Pelosi was rattling off her talking points, she mentioned that the Senate bill was way different. Of course, we weren't talking about the Senate bill, but I found myself wondering not only what the differences are but how are we, the American people, supposed to know which will pass? And they're so different? Eeek. Methinks its time for a letter-writing campaign.

This is what Speaker Pelosi said:

• Women pay 48% more for healthcare than men do -- the House bill prevents "gender rating"
• The House bill won't allow insurance companies to deny you coverage or charge you more just because you have the "pre-existing condition" of pregnancy, a C-section or domestic violence.
• 79% of women with individual policies currently have no maternity coverage
• The public option in the House bill (there is no public option in the Senate bill) would offer income assistance to anyone making up to 400 times the federal poverty level, or roughly $80k. Insurance would be required.
• The House bill requires:
• • No dropping of coverage if you get sick
  • No co-pays for preventative or wellness visits
  • No need to change doctors or (if you like your old plan) insurance plans
  • Yearly caps on what the consumer would pay out-of-pocket
  • No yearly or lifetime caps on what the insurance company will pay for healthcare
  • No pre-existing condition refusal to pay
  • Americans must get insurance and companies must pay for insurance.
  • You can choose your insurance out of a pool in which insurance companies and the public option compete.
  • The public options allows Americans sick of insurance companies a Medicare-like plan.
• This whole thing won't add to the deficit because the public option won't require advertising, etc. and will be just like Medicare with 85% of premiums going to pay for healthcare. (WTF? I like this bill, but that is crazy talk.)

I found myself wondering if the public option would have better technology and friendlier civil servants than other government services (cough, DMV), but I do believe we need a public option. My comment on BlogHer:

I know I personally have had a hard time getting a handle on thetalking points and what they mean to both me and to the larger Americanpopulace. I know what would be best for me, but I'm also worried aboutwhat would be best for others -- particularly those whose very life ordeath or quality of life hangs in the balance when it comes tohealthcare coverage.I personally feel health and medicine can't be a for-profit businessand operate ethically for any period of time. Our current state ofaffairs evidences that every day. I'm not sure this bill will fixthings, but I want to learn more.

Some more information and questions rolled in after the call, including comments about Massachusetts' attempt at public healthcare, Medicaid, disability and C-sections. Click here to sign a petition from MomsRising and contact your elected officials.

If you have opinions, pro or con the House bill, feel free to discuss in the comments and send me the posts you've written on the matter. Be aware I only tolerate civil disagreement and won't allow mudslinging on this blog.