fine whine

Unfortunately Natalya's got an ear infection again. Two of them. I believe. She's had them before, and we're starting to recognize the signs.

Unfortunately since we don't have an otoscope* we still need to take her to the doctor to verify the infections, and only the doctor can prescribe the antibiotics to get rid of them. So I guess we're stuck with them for now.

Unfortunately their office is clear across town, about ten miles or so, seemingly through some of the worst traffic no matter what time we need to go.

Unfortunately we were running late this morning, and things did not look good for us making our appointment on time. I'm not going to say that I was rushing, but the odds seemed stacked against us. Somewhat anxious and growing more impatient when I needed to change lanes, I ended up getting wedged in closely between an SUV and a big white van just before I turned onto the highway.

Unfortunately just after I turned I saw flashing lights in my rear-view window. I waited for the policecar to pass me, but it didn't, so I pulled over, expecting to be cited for a dead brake light (which I really should replace one of these days). Apparently, though, I had run a red light in making my turn, not noticing this because the tall van in front of me not only also ran the red light, but also was too tall for me to see the light. I'd only looked at the (lack of) oncoming traffic before turning.

Unfortunately the officer pulled me over, not the van. While that driver was making his escape, Jessica and I were frantically trying to find the proof of insurance card. Uncharacteristically for me I began freaking out, since all we could find was a long-expired one from 2002.

Fortunately the officer eventually apparently determined I was telling the truth about being insured, and returned from his car with a written warning for me. He didn't write me a ticket, which was nice, and he didn't even mention anything about my brake light.

Of course, once I was back at the house, had given Natalya her medicine and cleaned up the pink stains from it, I sifted through my stash of insurance forms. Despite receiving one every so many months, I hadn't had a current one in the car for the last five years. I guess it's a good thing I'm a good driver, when I don't have my mind on 103 degree fevers.

* You know, that pointy flashlight/magnifying glass that the doctors use for looking down ears and throats, hopefully cleaning it in between, of course. I think I want one.

So today was Father's Day, the first one since Natalya was born. Generally for me, as far as I could remember, Father's Day was a day to give my Dad a card and a phone call, and that's about it. I don't remember doing any special stuff (breakfast in bed, etc.) in the past, and didn't really feel the need to, well, need any special treatment myself.

My daughter's a bit young to really get into it anyway*.

My wife, on the other hand, gave me a brand new radio-controlled helicopter. I've always enjoyed playing with radio-controlled toys, having destroyed at least three cars as a child, and having seen my neighbor's collection of helicopters I have wanted one for a while (as seen on my wishlist).

Knowing they were complicated and difficult to control, I actually read the manual a few times while I waited for the batteries to charge.

With the Jessica and Natalya safely inside, I attempted some brief flights. It only took me about an hour to crash and break it beyond repair, at least until I track down some spare parts.

* I'm fairly certain her signature on the card I received was forged, too.

Welcome, Carnival of Breastfeeding readers. My wife put me up to this, but as long as she does the majority of waking up late at night, and changes more diapers overall, I'm generally willing to go along with what she tells me to do.

So our daughter is breastfed, basically exclusively, other than the applesauce*. That said, she's eaten in a variety of places, public and otherwise, and every time I've been ready for somebody to be outraged. And waiting.

Except that nobody is bothered by it, to my befuddlement. I aggregate a few "new dad" blogs, and they rarely fail to point out a new media blitz when some celebrity in NYC or L.A. pulls up or down her shirt and gives her kid some milk. The blog and/or youtube comments following those articles are very, very informative as to the great gulf between the folks who find 'feeding fantastic, and the ones who are disgusted by the very notion of its mention, let alone seeing any portion of an exposed breast. Likewise the stories of women thrown off airplanes for offending more prudish passengers or flight attendants.

But out in the real world, I can't seem to find anybody willing to vocally object, or to even sneer, or look away in disgust. Either I'm ignoring such people, or they just aren't out there, around here. A couple weekends ago shoppers passing through the hoity-toity upscale mall portion of Columbus's Easton shopping mecca might have glanced, in the front window of Claire's (an earring and cheap jewelry boutique, for those of the non-female persuasion), a distraught baby with two new holes in her head, getting some comfort food from her mom.

For the record, I'm still not convinced getting Natalya's ears pierced before she's old enough to pay for it was a good idea. I have no such reservations about her being breastfed, and again, am almost sad nobody else seems to object either.

Not that I'd throw down my gloves and get into a good scrap with the offended party, anyway, but I'd point out that my wife would give them a good talking-to.

As for this Carnival, here are some more links:

• Jessica's post
• breastfeeding.blog.motherwear.com
• breastfeeding123.com
• mamaknowsbreast.com
• thelactivist.blogspot.com
• breastfeedingmums.typepad.com
• crunchydomesticgoddess.com
• nursingyourkids.com

* I don't really count shoving spoonfuls of peaches and sweet potatoes into her mouth "feeding" as I think of it as, more or less, an early, pediatrician-approved form of torture. The mashed-up bananas, well, once she's started eating more than she ends up wearing, then I'll figure out what I think of those.