Cartilla: Check!

We got Hanix his cartilla yesterday! That's his health insurance booklet, because kids are covered by public insurance in Mexico through age nine.

I thought it would be more of a challenge than it was. I was pleasantly surprised.

We started by going to the Centro de Salud here in town. The crabby ladies there told us to go to Jocotepec, the municipal capital. Yesterday we made it there and made it to the right office on only the second try. We were sent away to get photos of Hanix, and then came back and Hernan got it all taken care of piece o' cake. Apparently we were supposed to have a heap of documents with us in order to get him registered, but for some reason all we really needed was his photos.

I guess anyone, with our luck, could have shown up with a photograph of a baby and gotten the insurance card.

Sometimes it's so ridiculously hard to take care of paperwork here in Mexico, and other times it's surprisingly easy.

In other news, it's totally rad to have a sister come visit - especially one who tidies up your mess for you while you're stuck nursing for hours (or blogging). Thanks, sis!

Roach Slum

I’d like to begin this post with the claim that I am not a filthy person. I might be messy, but I like to think that my mess is generally a clean mess. Sure, my housekeeping may have declined during these last few busy months, but … but … I swear I’m not that dirty!

Apparently our house is now a cockroach slum. Actually, it's probably more like a resort. I hate them. After finding one of them living in my beer mug (jerk!) I’ve now encountered many more. We’ve killed five or six grown ones. And of course “we” means I find them, and Hernan kills them. But I’ve killed probably three times that many baby roaches. I think that’s what they are. Little mini-roaches that come out to kick it in my kitchen sink at three in the morning. And yes, I hunt them down in the middle of the night. Every time Hanix wakes me to nurse I then make a little trip to the kitchen to see whether I can kill any of the suckers. I hate them.

I just discovered one (or more) has been living up in my blender. Yeah, in the machine part. The very blender I’ve been using to make sauces and curries. (Sure, they’re not in the part of the blender where the food goes, but still!) I just gave the thing a few good shakes and out cascaded a veritable shit-ton of roach poop.

If you know me you can imagine how unhappy this makes me. I’m distressed.

So I consulted my friend The Internets, and in particular my friend Wikipedia, and they told me quite a bit about the funky yucks. Apparently a happy roach emits pheromones to attract other roaches. Basically, it broadcasts the location of the swank roach resort it just happened upon. And then I guess all its cousins come swarming. Also, no matter how clean I make my house, I’m still up for a battle because apparently they can live for a month without food. And when I say “without food”, bear in mind that they eat paper and the glue off stamps and all kinds of stuff. How am I going to get rid of all the paper in my house?!

I hate them.

This would be easier to handle if I thought they just wandered in once in a while, but to know they’re infesting my kitchen, inviting all their buddies, and laying eggs really raises the yuck factor.

If I so much as see one anywhere near Hanix I’ll go ballistic.

Uhg. So the battle continues.

I hate them.

Also, I may not post as much this coming week because my sis is coming out. Three cheers for that! Yay!

Welcome, sis, to my roach infested abode!

Side Jobs

It sometimes seems that everyone in town has a side business. They sell chicken out of their house or ice cream out of the back of their pickup.

To bring in some extra money, my brother-in-law and his wife have started selling food out front of the house on weekends: pizza, Saturday nights; sandwiches, Sunday afternoons.

To bring in some extra money (actually, there's nothing "extra" about it), Hernan and his cousin have decided to start cutting hair in the shop my mother-in-law runs out of the house.

They applied some fresh paint, put up some mirrors, and moved some of the display cases into the living room - pushing the living room furniture back further into the house. It's been quite the rearrangement.

They're planning on cutting hair for men and boys, both regular cuts and buzzed-in designs, like stars and lines, which is all the rage among the teenage boys in town.

They have had a few customers, and yesterday they each made about eight dollars in pesos.

I kind of like the idea of the barbershop, but I doubt we'll make much money from it, since each cut runs about two dollars. Also, as I expected, Hernan and his cousin are spending the whole weekend hanging out on the street in front of the house surrounded by teenage boys and old men who like to tell stories about themselves.

My mother-in-law has her shop; my brother-in-law, his weekend food stand; Hernan, his barbershop. Now I have to come up with my side business...

MX Birth Certificate: Achieved

I got Hanix's Mexican birth certificate this week. We're one step closer to getting him his US passport.

I was going to go back to the office on Monday, but I'd heard, by word of mouth, that the clerk wasn't going to be there. It seems the office is open pretty much when she feels like working. Love me the word-of-mouth network, though. It's the positive side to "all-up-in-other-people's-business gossip".

Next step, getting his Mexican health card thingy. Should find out what exactly that's called. I do know we have to go to Jocotepec to get it, since that's what the grouchy ladies in San Juan's tiny clinic grumbled at my husband and me.

I'm going to make an appointment with the US consulate in GDL, too. Maybe Monday.

Cockroach Doodie

I never unpacked a couple of boxes of kitchen things because I had nowhere to put the contents besides the floor. I'm still waiting on shelves or cupboards in the kitchen. I think I'll be waiting a while. In the meantime I put up a swank board and cinder-block shelf on the counter (classy!) and a sizable shelf along one wall. The shelf we got from my sister-in-law when she moved away.

So now that I have this shelf I thought I'd unpack another box of kitchen things.

La-dee-da. Unpacking. Putting glasses and bowls and things on the shelves. Ah. So nice to see my old things after about a year. Familiar, nice things. Unpacking. Unwrapping things. ... Wait. What's all this brown... it's poop! Dry poop crumbs all over everything!

I can only guess it's cockroach poop. I'm pretty sure I don't have rats or mice in my kitchen, but cockroaches: we found another one just last night.

So then I found it. Inhabiting one of my beer mugs with it's dirty, poopy, antennae-y, crunchy, faceless, scurrying, filthy, cockroachy self.

Because I'm not squeamish, or irrationally cowardly, or ridiculous in any way, I covered the beer mug with another dish and am waiting for Hernan to come home and kill it. I know. Totally absurd. "But they're yucky" I say.

So if Hanix continues to nap (unlikely) I'm going to endeavor to wash every last surface, dish and chopstick in the kitchen.

Stupid, scurrying, faceless, antennae-y vermin.

Don't Nurse My Baby

Hanix has been on an eating binge the last two days. He pretty much constantly eats. I'm talking hours on end. It's kind of scary. He'll eat for an hour, fall asleep for five or ten minutes with his belly all disgorged, and wake up ravenous. What gives?

Is he about to have another growth spurt? Is he about to grow another foot in length? Was he just thirsty? Does he have a drinking problem?

So in an effort to get him to nap, I took him out to the highway, where, as I've mentioned, he is soothed by the traffic noise.

I was out there doing my paces with the Eating Machine when Hernan's cousin passed by. She lives next door. She asked to hold him, and then, before I knew it, she's taken him into her house next door. I was left standing alone in the street.

I went back in the house and sat down before realizing I wanted my baby back. Synapses may not be firing like they used to. Have I mentioned my four hours of (interrupted) sleep every night. I'm running on empty, folks.

So I went next door to retrieve my son only to find this cousin nursing my baby.

Shock!

I didn't know what to think.

Who just grabs someone else's baby and then nurses him???

She and I are really not that close.

Maybe this isn't a big deal, but maybe it is. I'm pretty sure she's not taking any medications and hadn't been drinking or anything. But! But! But! Don't nurse my baby!

I question myself about my reaction. Is this some kind of prudish American repulsion?

But! But! Don't nurse my baby!

I've decided it surely did him no harm, but I still don't want it to happen again. If nothing else, it could interfere with my own milk supply, which has to keep up with his (ridiculously high) demand. Is that oversharing? Sorry.

But it really weirded me out.

Seriously. Don't nurse my baby.

New Friends

My plan to use my adorable and plus-sized bzby to lure people into friendship is already working. Yesterday I made five friends.

Sure, they're aged four to seven, but I still consider this progress.

While taking Hanix, the Eating Machine, for a walk on the back road, a little girl and a little boy on bikes (hey! I like bikes too!) called out to me "What's his name?" Then we fell into a riveting conversation about our names and how many siblings we all have and how old everyone is.

This kind of conversation is just my thing because I can understand and answer all the questions directed at me.

When their younger, bicycle-less siblings caught up with them, I made three more friends.

Maybe they'll introduce us around, and then Hanix and I will become the most popular mother-son team in San Juan. We'll be invited to all the birthday parties. I can hardly wait.