H1N1 vaccinations: More fun than you can shake your fist at

So getting out of the way the whole Should I? Shouldn't I? part -- we have a toddler and an infant and I already personally know one kid who's gotten swine flu, and I'd rather risk side effects from the shot than side effects (or any effects) from the virus. But hey, you want to fret about government conspiracies, that is of course your call.

I got kiddo and me into a clinic for high-risk groups a few hours before registration closed out entirely. It ran 4:30 to 8:30 p.m., and no you could not register for a specific time, what do you think this is, a haircut?

So we waited on line. And waited on line. And some more. And genius me for bringing the stroller, because I could stash our coats in the storage bin and have something to lean on while also keeping maniac kiddo contained in one spot instead of chasing him all over the room. You anti-stroller people, you have no idea how much they simplify our lives. At least I apologize when I accidentally run over your toe.

We moved from one line to a room where I had to fill out forms providing essentially the same information I'd already provided on the printouts from the registration. And then to another line, in which we discovered that they were going alphabetically by last name and I possess the most common first letter in the alphabet. Occasionally a guy walked back down the line calling out, "Any Ds? Any Fs?" I thought maybe we'd be getting a seating chart and a syllabus next.

Kiddo was putting up with all this remarkably well because he had a granola bar and my iPod. There's one episode of "Sesame Street" on it I just keep showing him over and over, and whenever he sees the iPod he says, "See Elmo!" Somehow he figured out where the earbuds go, though I've never showed him that, and he sat there playing with the clickwheel and listening to my music. I hope he didn't find the Metallica.

We got to the front (!) of the alphabet line and found out that we had to go to the "verification room" because kiddo got his regular flu shot last month and they were, I dunno, afraid he might explode or something. So we went to that room and waited on another line to be told that he's good to go, and we should go down the hall where there is -- wait for it -- another line for kids under 36 months.

We got there and there were two lines leading through double doors into a bigger room, and the nice lady who was trying to direct me started to bring me in front of the double doors, in between the two other lines. Another worker tried to stop me, assuming I guess that I was a line-jumper, and after I had a minor hissy and explained that I was following someone, he let me pass without a password or anything. And then I stood there at the front, on no particular line, waiting for I knew not what until the first worker beckoned me into one corner of the next room, which was apparently the kiddie corner.

They had quite the assembly-line operation going. Haul the kid onto a table, yank his pants down, stick him quickly, shove him off on his parent while he's screaming. Next!

I wheeled still-crying kiddo to a quiet spot against the wall and brought out my secret weapon: A fun-size Butterfinger. "Want some chocolate?" I wheedled. Kiddo stopped crying, perked right up and attacked it. Leftover Halloween candy, I love you.

The chocolate perked him up so much, in fact, that he was calm and happy while I got my shot and while we waited the required 15 minutes after to make sure neither of us had a reaction. There were rows of folding chairs set up at the other end of the room so all the recently stuck could wait together. Kiddo hung out in the stroller while I texted DH and we had another round of granola bars (it being past dinnertime). He was so calm, in fact, that the grandma next to us scolded her weeping little girl: "Look at that little boy, see how happy he is?" Oh, silly grandma, where's your chocolate?

And we're done. Except that kiddo needs two shots on account of his age. Can't wait to do this all again in a month, assuming of course there's any vaccine left.

Lose weight sitting down!

Or such is the tone, more or less, of this article from the NY Times, discussing the weight-loss benefits of breastfeeding. It kind of treats the whole idea like some hot new fad diet, then suggests it might not work anyway, then finds people to criticize women for treating breastfeeding like some hot new fad diet. You horrible mothers for wanting to lose weight!

It's actually a fairly interesting piece if you get past the usual Times-ness: "Nursing mothers can buy form-fitting tops at YummyMummyStore.com so they can flaunt their shape as they push their Bugaboo." Yeah, we all drop $1,000 and up on strollers, you're so totally right.

But I'm not sure the approach works. For one thing, the weight-loss benefits aren't a new concept. Every article/book I've read on breastfeeding notes that as a possible side effect. And I can vouch for it, to an extent. I'll even roll out the numbers: I was 118 before my first pregnancy, gained more than 30 pounds (I'd say how much but I forget and also it was horrifying), and after just over a year of breastfeeding and not nearly enough exercise, I was hovering around 130. Which is where I started off the second time, got up to about 168ish, and eight weeks in am down to about 141. Hoping this time to go all the way down to 118, because there's a cute dress in my closet I can never wear again otherwise.

So yes, I'd definitely say nursing *helps* weight loss. But at some point I'll have to do the rest myself, either by walking more or showing up at yoga again finally, or chasing after kiddo a lot (I'd recommend that, actually. I could rent him out for running practice). And that I think is where the article stumbles, because it seems to suggest that moms might be able to lose all the weight solely by breastfeeding, and not also exercising or changing their eating habits. Because boy, it's easy to keep eating like you're pregnant when you're not anymore.

I do very much like this sentence though: "Breast-feeding mothers face many obstacles: little hospital help, public squeamishness and too-short maternity leave." Yes and yes. And I had a good experience in the hospital and really can't complain about my leave, but I've heard horror stories from other moms and it burns me up.

Dear other families on the hayride,

I would like to apologize for my son's nearly bowling your kids over on the way to the pumpkin patch. He likes pumpkins.

I'd also like to apologize for the fact that he immediately lost interest in the pumpkins in favor of the rocks, though I'd like to note that he is a collector of rocks (acorns, leaves, etc.) and not a thrower of rocks at others.

And also for the way he ruined several photographs by barrelling through the scene just as you were about to hit the button.

And further for making the rest of you sit on the tractor cart and wait until we 1. grabbed the pumpkins we wanted and 2. corralled our child, realizing that even though you had the time to swing a hayride in the middle of a Monday, you of course were in a big hurry to get to the next item on your busy schedules.

And also for making some of you scoot over to allow us to sit down for the ride back, as you appeared to have mistaken the tractor for a subway and us for straphangers. So very sorry especially that I had some desire to sit down while toting around an infant.

But mostly I'd like to apologize to the preteen in the sweatshirt and shaggy hair who slumped in one corner of the cart, his entire look saying "I can't believe my mom still drags me on this thing every year," because little does he realize that in 20 or so years he'll be right back here doing the same dorky Halloween thing with his kid, and he should enjoy his utter coolness while he can.

Mean thought at the OB's office

Is it so wrong, after months of sitting on hold, sitting and waiting in the office, waiting for callbacks from the nurses that never came, waiting to make an appointment and then finding out the computers were down, waiting to get HR paperwork filled out only to find that the staff lost it, and waiting for test results that were given to me via an automated voicemail system no matter how serious the results were, that while sitting and waiting -- once again -- to be seen at the six-week follow-up visit, kiddette started to wail and I had the fleeting desire to hand her a mike, kick back and let everyone else be annoyed for a change?

The Type A child vs. the happy sleeper

Truly it is amazing how very opposite these two kids are.

Firstborn kiddo was ready to go from minute 1. Full of energy. Always loud (to the point of scaring other children). Always alert. Always into everything. A favorite running joke at home: DH comes out of the bedroom, watches his son for a few minutes and says, "What did you feed him?" "Crystal meth," I say.

Eventually, of course, kiddo will start saying that himself and all the other parents will run away when they see us coming.

Now there's new little kiddette, who never met a nap she didn't like. Sometimes the exertion of napping tires her out so much she has to take a nap afterward. Other favorite running joke: Whenever she bothers to ascend into wakefulness, one of us will say to the other, "Look! She has eyes!"

It got to the point, in the hospital, where I made a lactation consultant come to the room and consult because I wasn't sure she was getting enough to eat. I'm thinking now she is, since the little pink newborn outfits fit her now, but I still wake her myself for feedings half the time.

Kiddo never missed a feeding. And four of his favorite words are "breakfast," "lunch," "dinner" and "snack."

Also, kiddette is noisy. She makes more odd sounds in her sleep than an 80-year-old lifetime smoker with a snoring problem. It's like she's making a loud and forceful argument about something or other (health care? the national deficit? who knows). Although occasionally it's just gas.

I think I can pretty well call their teenage years: Kiddo will bust through the door after practice for whatever five sports he'll be playing, eat everything in the fridge and run outside to do laps around the county. Kiddette will stroll in, cellphone attached to ear (and by then I assume we really will be able to attach cellphones to ears), assure us she's not hungry -- again -- and head upstairs, continuing the seven simultaneous conversations she's having while also texting five other people with the second cellphone permanently attached to her hand. And then she'll sleep for 10 hours.

Truly, she's making me nostalgic for my college years, when I'd come home at the end of the semester and sleep for a whole day or so. But that was after a semester of more or less not sleeping.

Which, come to think of it, is more or less what I'm doing now. Minus the beer and 8 a.m. lecture hall classes.

Oh, who am I kidding, peach schnapps and iced tea. I never drank beer in college.

Dear FDA,

I feel you must investigate the use of Americone Dream as a possible labor and delivery aid.

During my previous pregnancy, I ate some of the ice cream a week before my due date and promptly went into labor. During this pregnancy, I went into labor spontaneously but it progressed so slowly that I resorted to eating the ice cream -- at which point the pace quickened noticeably and my daughter was born a few hours later.

Pregnant women should be notified, especially, not to eat the ice cream before their 37th week. Please see what you can do to expedite this.

Sincerely,

A bemused Colbert fan

There is Colbert ice cream in my freezer and I am afraid to eat it

Let me explain. Last time around, that delightful caramely concoction known as Americone Dream had just hit the market and we looked everywhere for it, because I am a huge Stephen Colbert fan. Also a huge Jon Stewart fan, but he doesn't have his own ice cream.

It took forever but DH finally tracked it down and brought me some. We ate it that night, about a week before my due date, and while we were watching the Report I went into labor.

Coincidence? I think not!

Every person I tell that story to says I should write the show about it, but I was afraid to on account of Colbert probably would put it on the show. (Although that isn't stopping me from blogging about it so there you go.) Now here we are again, at week 37, and there is a pint of Americone in the freezer that has been sitting there for weeks because I am not touching it until I am ready for this kid to be born. Just imagine if it happens again? I think I would need to petition the FDA to regulate this stuff.

And unrelatedly I'm kvetching because the FakeNews Hour has been on another three-week vacation and I hate when they do that. C'mon, you work four days a week! So glad they're back tomorrow.