But on the other hand...

Despite the whiny-ness of my previous post, I sure am loving our little Colton.   And I'm loving my big kids, too.  To be perfectly honest, it sort of boggles my mind that I have FOUR kids.  When I was a teenager and used to babysit, I would always come home relieved to be done with a job.  It would leave me worrying to my Mom about the fact that I was always so happy to get away from the kids I'd been watching (even kids that I genuinely liked!).  "Mom," I would say, "What if I just don't like kids?"  And she would always reassure me that it would be different some day when they were my kids.   But I still worried.

I shouldn't have.  She was right.  I can never get enough of them...

So here are a bunch more pictures, mostly of Colton.  Enjoy!

Starting to unfurl

My midwife with her latest "catch"!

Getting weighed for his 2-day check-up

Eying Daddy suspiciously during bathtime

Meeting Aunt Natalie

Despite the face Ryder pulls when you tell him to smile, I still totally love this picture

Chilling with Aunt Tracy

I never imagined that I could be so blessed.

Dodging Reality

My Mom and Tracy left last week on Tuesday.  Craig was supposed to go back to work the next day, but thanks to a power line that fell down across the road, blocking access to his school, he got one more day off.  So that left me with only Thursday and Friday to survive on my own.  But now it's spring break, so I'm back to living the good life with an extra set of hands helping me out with everything and little-to-no schedule to stick to.

And it's marvelous (despite the lame-o weather).  AND my wonderful ward family has been bringing us meals every other day, so that has made my life fifty times easier.  But I will admit that I'm sort-of-just-a-little-bit terrified for next week when I will have to be a mother to four children most of the day all by myself and somehow have dinner on the table at the end of the day.  It's funny, because I know how to do this.  I know how to feed and change the baby.  I know what to give Ryder for lunch and when he needs to nap.  I know how to get the big kids fed and Bentley's lunch made, and drop him off at school on time.  I can even do all that and turn around and get Kendra to preschool (sometimes even on time!).  I can!  I know how to sneak in and get my shower (or my nap, whichever seems more important at the time).  I know how to get dinner on the table at a reasonable hour.

I'm just not sure how to do all of these things at the same time.  I didn't think it would be any harder than when we added any of the other kids to the mix until it was time to do it, and now it feels very overwhelming.  It all feels overwhelming.  I have to nurse this little guy every three hours?  For a year?  How do I find time to get anything else done in between all those feedings?  (Or rather, is there a good reason to EVER BOTHER GETTING DRESSED in between them all?)  How do I take care of three fairly demanding kids-- who each want to spend their entire waking time chattering away at me-- when I've been up two or three times in the night feeding a baby?  Or, more to the point-- why do these kids insist on talking to me so much when I am clearly so exhausted?

Anyway, these are the issues I'm worrying about right now.  And next week I'll actually tackle them.  I'm hoping that this is one of those situations where the worrying is worse than the doing-- throw me into the deep end, and I'll muddle through just fine.  It's staring at it and contemplating it that makes it seem so impossible.

Perhaps?

Conversations at Home

Me: Look!  I can fit into my post-pregnancy fat jeans!
Craig: That's great-- they're not even maternity jeans!  Look at you!
Me: I'm just a little bulgy on top.  Oh, well.
Craig: That's okay, I'm pretty sure that's the new style.  You know what they say, "Muffin top is the new anorexia!"


I think everyone should live for that fashion ideal.  (And I really did think Craig was hilarious.  This isn't one of those "isn't my husband awful for saying that" sorts of blog posts, in case you weren't sure.)

*     *     *     *     *   

While my Mom was here, she was telling us about a book my great-uncle, a geologist, wrote called Greenland's Icy Fury.  Except at one point she got the title mixed up and instead referred to it as Iceland's Greasy Fury.  I'm picturing a McDonald's takeover, but I think that title is pretty open to wherever your imagination can take you.  Someone needs to make a movie of this.

 *     *     *     *     *    

Another of my Mom's spoonerisms: I've gotten her started reading the Maisie Dobbs books.  Except she referred to the heroine as Daisie Mobbs.  Close, but not quite...

*     *     *     *     *    

Bentley & Kendra, running into the room filled with excitement, "Mommy!  Mommy!  Ryder learned a new word!  He can say, 'Hate'!!!"

Just what a mother longs to hear...

*     *     *     *     *    

And last but not least, a story with a bit of a backstory to it.  So the other day as Craig was getting ready to bathe the kids, Ryder managed to slam the bathroom door into Bentley.  The doorknob got him right under his eye, giving him quite the shiner.  The next day, when Bentley came home from school I asked him if people asked him about it.  "Yeah," he responded, "So I told them I didn't want to talk about it."  Maybe I should have written a note of explanation to his teacher after all...

Lucky #4

Since we keep accidentally calling him Ryder (Ryder II?), I ought to write down some of the things that make Colton unique, even if he is our fourth child.

So, at only five days old, Colton is already the first in our family to be:

-Born on a week day (yay for Wednesday!)
   *Bentley was born on a Sunday, Kendra on the Monday of a 3-day weekend, Ryder on a Sunday

-Born after his due date
    *Bentley 2 days early, Kendra 1 week early, Ryder 4 days early

-Have positive blood type
    *I am Rh negative, so this is the first time I've had to have a second rhogam shot after giving birth!

-Born the same day that I went into labor
    *All the others I labored all day, and then they came the next day!

-Have experienced every season of weather in a 5-day span
    *Truly.  He was born on a gorgeous, warm spring day.  And since then we've had rain and snow.  Crazy March weather! 

 

This kid is bucking all the rules the others have followed!  He also weighs the most, is nursing the best, and is fortunate enough to have three older siblings who adore him.  Life must be pretty good when you're the fourth kid!


As for myself, I'm in the throes of trying to recover right now.  I felt great the day of his birth, and didn't even need any tylenol or anything that entire day.  But then the next day I made the mistake of visiting my doctor, who insisted on adding some stitches to Tierney's work.  And then I caught a cold (which I'm guessing I picked up at the doctor's), which left me burning and shivering with a fever before settling into my nose so that I simply can't breathe.  And then my milk came in.  Between those three things, I am now a pharmacy on legs-- I can't turn around without needing some antibiotic (for the stitches), or lanolin cream (for the milk), or Kleenex, or Tucks pads (stitches again), or nasal decongestant (stupid cold)...  I'm a mess.  My only consolation is that I'm pretty sure I would have come out of the hospital even worse for wear, so I'm still just counting my blessings that I was able to stay home.

It won't be long before I feel human again, right?  Right?

Colton's Birth!

He's here!  My sweet little baby finally made his grand entrance!  And much less exciting, but I have to point it out: THIS IS MY 700TH BLOG POST!  What a lucky number for such happy news!


Colton's birth was perfect.  Everything about his birth was exactly what I wanted it to be, and what I felt it could be: a peaceful and joyous experience.

So the story, in all its messiness, goes like this:  I'd been having contractions off and on for weeks, but never anything consistent, and usually not even anything very painful.  Mostly just oodles of Braxton-Hicks contractions, although they were getting so strong that it was hard to tell if they were real or not.  After much debate, my Mom and sister finally left Monday night to go to New York.  My Mom was running out of time to visit my other sisters there (who had vacation plans for later in the week) and Tracy needed to get back to work.  They both would have been willing to stay another day just in case, but at this point I felt like I was feeling so much pressure to produce a baby, that it would be easier for them to leave and dispense with the guilt than to stick around waiting for things to start.  I guess I felt like that watched pot that will never boil or something.

Yes, I really was that big.  That's what nearly 10 lbs of baby looks like!

Naturally, as soon as that decision was made, I proceeded to have small contractions all throughout dinner.  But I didn't mention it.  I knew if I told Mom and Tracy, they'd immediately change their plans, stay another day, and nothing would happen.

That night I had some strong contractions for about an hour and a half.  I finally texted my Mom to tell her-- by this time they were in New Jersey.  They offered to turn around and come straight back, but I told them that dying by falling asleep at the wheel would not help anyone out.  And as soon as I went to sleep, the contractions stopped.  So that was the right move.

Tuesday, the next day, was long.  Oh my goodness it was a long day!  It was full of grocery shopping and trying to take care of kids when I had little to no energy.  Walking to Bentley's school to pick him in the afternoon up was sheer torture.  Even trying to make the car stop when I was having a super strong Braxton-Hicks contraction seemed like too much work.  It was not a fun day.  I went to bed that night wondering how much longer I could survive like that.  When Craig's alarm clock went off at 6 the next morning, I woke up because I was having a contraction.  And then they kept coming every 7 or 8 minutes.  And they were strong.  Craig and I spent a few minutes trying to decide whether or not he should go to work.  I was worried-- again-- that if he stayed home, nothing would happen.  But he pointed out that me trying to manage three kids while in labor seemed like a reallly bad idea.  So I agreed and he called in sick.  And naturally, the next contraction was way later and I worried that we'd effectively stopped my labor.  But seven minutes later another one hit.  So I stopped worrying.  And as it turned out, it was a REALLY good thing Craig stayed home.  Otherwise I think he would have missed it entirely.

That was 6:30am.  Around 7 I texted my midwife, Tierney, to let her know what was happening.  I told her I didn't think we'd need her any time soon, but that I was surprised at how intense the contractions were already.  Just a few minutes later I realized that I was bleeding.  And then the next contraction came after only 5 minutes.  And the next came was only 3 minutes later and it lasted a full minute.  I texted Tierney again and warned her that maybe she should be coming sooner than I'd thought.  She wrote back, "Call me."

I waited for another contraction to pass and then made the call.  I explained what was going on.  "It sounds like things are moving fast and I would rather be there for a bit waiting than worry about missing it, so I'll come now.  I'll be in the car, on the road in 15 minutes," she assured me.  I was so relieved.

I tried to keep busy emptying the dishwasher, but I only got halfway through it.  (Craig says that I just wandered away and left Ryder to try and finish without any supervision.  Oops.  He says that was when he knew that things must be close, because I clearly wasn't firing on all cylinders any more.)  Craig ran around getting the kids dressed and fed and calling his parents to come and help.  (That was a great irony-- the last few months, we have consistently reassured them that with my Mom and sister here, we wouldn't need any extra help.  So naturally, we end up calling them at 7:30 on a Wednesday morning begging for help as soon as possible!  They were very gracious about coming immediately and NOT rubbing that fact in our faces!)  At one point I sat down on the couch next to Ryder, who wanted to pretend to take a nap.  A contraction hit, and he began playfully kicking his feet against my stomach, which was awful.  But I was in too much pain to stand up and move.  Fortunately Craig saw what was happening and came to my rescue! 

Tierney arrived at 8:05.  After Craig and she brought in all her supplies, she listened to the baby's heartbeat and then gave me leave to get in the shower.  Up until that point, I hadn't felt like I was allowed to do anything to help with the pain-- relaxing too much might speed things up too fast, so I hadn't really been trying.  But that shower really did the trick for me.  Each time a contraction hit, I'd get down on my hands and knees and rock back and forth blowing through my lips like a horse.  (I read somewhere that forcing your mouth to relax like that-- a singer's trick-- helps everything else relax, too.  So I've always stuck to that.)  And I'd try to focus on how each contraction was one less to get through and that it was opening me up and bringing me my baby.  But I'll admit that I did a little bit of whimpering then, too, because it hurt a lot.  Just before the hot water ran out, Craig's parents arrived around and took the kids to Chick-fil-A to play.  That was around 9am.

When the hot water was gone, there was nothing to be done but get out of the shower, even though I didn't want to.  I was trying to dry myself off, but I was too shaky to do much of anything, so I finally just sat down on the toilet.  And that was where my water broke, right at 9:08.  And then I moved to pushing.

Now this is what I love: as I sat there straining against all those urges and all that pain, Tierney calmly squatted down in front of me, held my hands, and began speaking, "Okay, Alanna," she said, "What would you like to do?  You can have this baby right here if you want, but I think you'd be more comfortable on the bed.  Do you want to try and move or do you want to stay?"

"Let's go to the bed."  I said, and she and Craig helped me back to the bedroom, which was all set up.  But notice how it was my choice?  How she didn't yell at me or coerce me?  How it was calm and everything was fine???  THIS was what I was hoping for!

(Sidenote: as I walked to the bed, I looked out the window and wondered briefly if anyone could possibly see in on this beautiful spring morning...  Um, they certainly would have gotten an eyeful if they did!)

I got onto the bed and began pushing.  And it was AWFUL.  Absolutely awful.  Everything hurt.  Colton's head came out but everything was still hurting and I couldn't understand why.  And then again, very calmly-- but this time a bit authoritatively-- Tierney began talking to me.  This time she said, "Alanna, we need to get this baby out now.  I need you to push now."  Tierney didn't tell me at the time, but his cord was wrapped around his neck, and according to Craig, he was very blue.  As soon as his head was out, she fixed the cord, but he still needed to come all the way out so he could breathe.  Craig says that as she fixed the cord I said "Ow," but I don't remember that or if that was why I said it.  I've always loved how Craig has big, broad shoulders, but it didn't occur to me until that moment that those shoulders could make for an awful delivery.  I certainly didn't feel like I had anything left to give, but there was nothing to do but to keep trying, so I buried my face in my pillows and squealed and moaned while I pushed with whatever was left in me until his shoulders worked their way out, too.  As soon as he was out, he quickly began breathing and pinked right up.  It wasn't until a few moments later that he actually cried. 

He was out.  He was here.  And I was done.  It was 9:18am.  My entire labor had lasted just over three hours.  And all the pain was gone like it had never happened in the first place.  I laid right down on my bed, with Craig beside me, and was handed my little baby and we just sat looking at each other while Tierney placed warm receiving blankets over him and me.

Chunky arms!  What newborn already has chunky arms and shoulders?!?!

Look at that face!

One of my favorites

Tired, but so happy

After a few minutes, Colton began to get fussy.  I tried halfheartedly to feed him a few times, but I was so happy just looking at him that I couldn't bear to sit up and make a full effort just yet.  And newborn cries are so funny-- so demanding and puny all at the same time-- that it was hard for me to take his crying very seriously.  I just wanted to talk back to him!  Eventually I got my act together and really worked on getting him nursing, and after a few tries he latched right on and had a good first meal.  He was a hungry little thing!  That was the best and quickest that any of my babies have ever nursed!  And once he'd eaten, he was very happy.

I handed him over to Craig at that point and let Tierney examine me.  I had a small tear which she stitched up while Craig held my hand (Colton nestled in his other arm).  Once I was fixed up, Tierney examined and weighed Colton.  We'd been making guesses about what he must weigh, but none of us were even close: 9 lbs 14 oz!!!  No wonder it was so much work getting him out!  He weighed almost a pound more than Ryder, and I'd thought Ryder was a chunk!

At this point, we got me tidied up just a little bit and Craig's parents brought the kids back so they could meet their 2-hour-old brother.  Tom and Donna had taken the kids shopping, and they'd each picked out a toy for themselves and one for the new baby, so they marched in very proudly with their gifts for their baby brother.  It was so sweet to see how proud they were and how excited!  Ryder especially-- I'd worried so much about how he would react to not being the baby, but he was as excited as the rest of us, constantly pointing to Colton and squealing, "Beebee!  Beebee home!"

Band of Brothers

So peaceful.  I think he was several hours old before we bothered to put any clothes on him...!

Looking like a chubby old man-- and finally wearing a onesie!

It was exactly as I'd imagined it could be.  It was hard and painful, but beautiful and peaceful and joyous.  I can't think of a better way to welcome a new little soul to our family.

Getting burped

Such a wonderful big sister

Proud big brother

Helping Ryder hold the Beebee.  Who is almost as big as he is!

Welcome to our family, little Colton Robert.  We already love you so much!

A Few Ryder-isms

Ryder is learning new words every day and it's been awfully fun to get a better idea of what's going through that head of his!  Unfortunately, he's also getting more opinionated, now that he can express himself in terms that I actually understand.  So when I tell him it's time to eat, it's fairly common for him to protest, "Play!" and when I tell him it's time to nap (or, in his words, "mop"), he'll shoot back with, "Eat!"  I had no idea he was so contradictory!  Except not really-- his protests are mostly just shouting the word, and then he'll go along with whatever I say it's time to do.  Not like most 2-year-olds at all...

Yesterday he woke up with one eye all crusted over, so I took him in to the doctor right away.  (That was nice having my sister and Mom here for it-- Tracy took Bentley to school, I took Ryder to the doctor, and Mom stayed home with Kendra!  Every household should have a 1:1 child-to-adult ratio!)  While at the doctor's, Ryder apparently picked up on the term "pinkeye" except he calls it "dark eye."  Which isn't an entirely bad description of it, when you think about it.

We have to put drops in his eyes every few hours and he has amazed me by not putting up much of a fuss about it.  Sure, he'll squeeze his eyes shut tight (but who wouldn't, given the circumstances?), but once I pry an eyelid open and get a drop in, he'll invariably burst out giggling and laugh about the whole thing.  He's got to be the only 2-year-old in the world who finds eye drops funny rather than a method of torture!  And since I'm feeling a little short on patience right now (3 days overdue and counting), I have to say that this feels very much like a tender mercy to me.

Other phrases he's picked up on include that the eye drops go in his eyes, "no mouf," and that today "Mommy gas car."*  He's also still talking about how he got to go "Up high!" when we took the kids to a bounce house for Kendra's birthday.  He really did-- by the end of the hour, he could climb up the biggest slide-- about 20 feet up-- without any help.  But then he'll clarify, "Daddy up high!" because at first, he needed Daddy's help to get there.  And of course, when Craig plays his favorite game of trying to eat him, Ryder will now shout (between giggles), "No eat me!"  But he says it totally funny-- like he's a robot who's just putting random words together or something-- so it sounds more like, "No.  Eat.  Me!"  If you can imagine.  (Picture when those voice-activated things read your phone number to you and how they never sound quite right.  That's how Ryder sounds.  Except a lot cuter.)

I know that as soon as this baby comes, my mind will suddenly flip Ryder into Big Boy territory.  So while we're playing the waiting game on little Colton, I'm trying to enjoy Ryder's last days as my baby.  Because he really has been about the sweetest little baby boy ever...



*That's a phrase from my own family-- we always say that we gassed the car.  Apparently the rest of the world has other ways of saying that, but I find this way the simplest and everyone always seems to understand me, so I haven't bothered correcting myself.  And now I get to pass my weird grammar-age on to my kids!  The joys of being a mother!

To Do List

• Buy birth supplies
• Gather them all in one place
• Wash all baby clothes, receiving blankets, burp cloths, etc.
• Clean out carseat
• Put away baby clothes
• Sanitize thermometer
• Fix old nursing bra
• Teach kids to make their beds
• Find birthing ball and inflate it
• Make sure Craig has lesson plans ready so he can take time off work
• Buy new nursing bra (cuz my fix-it job on the old one probably won't last)
• Pre-register at hospital (just in case!)
• Go visit hospital
• Try not to stress out that I accidentally pre-registered at the wrong hospital
• Clean house
• Tell people I haven't had the baby yet
• Get extra pillow cases for warming receiving blankets in
• Wash new pillow cases
• Buy a new nursing cover
• Make granola, stock up on nutritious snacks (like chocolate pudding)
• Have Mom and sister get to town so they can help with everything
• Clean house again
• Get through snow storm
• Keep telling people that he's still not here
• Let midwife go to her conference (just 'cuz we're polite like that!)
• Wipe down all cupboards
• Sew buttons back onto things
• Gently remind Craig to fix the toilet that just broke
• Stock up on milk and bread 
• Stock up again, because it keeps getting eaten
• Give Bentley time to stop being sick
• Clean the house.  Again.
• Get an Ergo carrier from my awesome in-laws
• Do several loads of laundry each day, just in case
• Let people know that nothing has happened yet, but I sure will tell them when it does!
• Obsessively change sheets on bed (because giving birth on a dirty bed is just gross)
• Watch Craig make chocolate cookies
• Give birth

Seriously, kid, what are you waiting for?!?!

Heirloom. Of Sorts.

I blogged once about a muumuu I like to wear when I'm pregnant.  And I like to pride myself that I'm fairly honest with you readers on this blog.  But looking back, I see that I wasn't.  Because at the time I did describe a muumuu that I like to wear.  But the one I described for you (awkward combination of sky blue and lime green) is the one I wear during my second trimester.  The truth is that, for my third trimester, I move on to an older, even MORE hideous muumuu!  I bet you didn't even know such a thing was possible!

This one started out royal blue with bright orange and yellow.  But the blue has faded to purple, especially over my entire, massive tummy area.  And it is a TENT.  Long flowing sleeves, body, everything.  It's huge.  And comfortable.  It's so light (partly because the material is naturally flimsy, partly because it's so old and worn thin) that it practically floats along with me wherever I go.  I'm afraid each time I wash it, because I worry it will just dissolve in the washing machine.

But oh, I love my muumuu.  Even if I find it totally embarrassing and only allow immediate family members to see me in it.  (Yes, I have run and hid when I was wearing it and someone showed up at the door unexpected!)  (It's completely normal to love something and still be ashamed of it, right?  ...Right?)

Anyway.  I found out this week that this thing is something of an heirloom in my family now!  I always thought my Mom bought it in the 70s ('nuff said, right?), but she said it actually belonged to my Grandmother first, who then bestowed it on my Mom when she was pregnant.  My Mom said she thought it was ugly even then, but too comfortable to not enjoy.  When she saw me wearing it and noted its faded state, the first words out of her mouth were, "Wow, it's even uglier than before!"

Yes.  Yes, it is.  But that hasn't stopped me from loving it!

And now, knowing even more of its history, it just makes me laugh.  Some people inherit fine china and jewelry from their grandparents.  In my family, we bequeath muumuus!  What a legacy!

Tug of War

I was supposed to meet with both my ob-gyn and my midwife today, but because of the snow, I only made it to the doctor's office, since that appointment was in the morning while the roads were still  relatively clear, and because it's way closer to my house.  After several more inches of wet, clumpy snow fell, I decided that there was no way I was driving to Marshall to see my midwife, and rescheduled for tomorrow.  We tried to talk on the phone, but the phones weren't working very well, either, unfortunately.  Stupid snow.

But here's the ironic thing: they both want to induce me!  My doctor-- big surprise-- is much more insistent.  He thinks I'm a day past my due date (which I'm not.  Without getting too TMI-y here, let me just assure you that I have a better idea of when I'm due than what the ultrasound says, and my due date is still three days away).  The insurance company has a policy that you can't go beyond 41 weeks, or else they induce you.  But because I've had a prior c-section, being induced with pitocin increases my chances of uterine rupture, so that's not an option.  Medically speaking, that means I'm limited to having my membranes stripped, my water broken, or just scheduling a c-section.  (Booooo, hisssssssssss!)

The midwife is a lot more laid back, but she did mention that if possible, it would be nice for her if I had the baby before Saturday.  In her case, she has a conference all day on Saturday, and would prefer to not be checking her phone every fifteen minutes to make sure I haven't been texting her.  But that's no big deal, she assured me-- the life of a midwife means missing out on stuff like that more often than not.  But she said if I wanted, she could instruct me on how to down some castor oil and/or use some herbal something something that will kick labor into gear.

And compared to having another c-section, drinking a little castor oil actually doesn't sound so bad!

In any case, after all this debating with my doctor, he went ahead and checked me and said that I'm already dilated to a four ("a loose four," were his exact words) and 90% effaced.  "You'll have this baby before Monday," he declared.  He also noted that when they were monitoring me (which they did for a half hour, just in case), I'd had contractions about every fifteen minutes.  But I never felt them.  He said if they started coming every 7 to 8 minutes, to go to the hospital (or, ahem, call the midwife).  But how I can do that when I'm not feeling them in the first place???

And really, more to the point: why are we all worrying so much?!

Really, this comes down to Colton: can't you just make this easier on everyone and make your grand appearance already?

Actually, this makes me think of a song...




Oh, how I love you, Baby.  But...

It's time for us to part...

In the Dark: a Rant Based Entirely on Personal Experience

We need to talk.  About light bulbs.

Seriously, what is the deal with flourescent lights?  Why do they suck so much?  I'm more than happy to use green products, but I expect them-- with all our modern technology-- to be better than what Edison invented 130 years ago.  Instead, what I keep ending up with are bulbs that either flicker as they first turn on-- making my home feel something like a haunted house-- or they start out really dim and then gradually grow to full brightness.  This makes me feel, for the first five minutes or so, like I'm wandering around in the movie Gaslight or something.

They're way too expensive, but claim to last for many more years, so that should still be cost-effective.  Except they never seem to last that long at all.  The first bulb we ever bought claimed a life expectancy of eleven years.  I remember because Craig and I joked as we installed it in Bentley's bedroom that it should last until our kid was thirteen years old!  Instead, six months later Bentley managed to pull on the cord of the lamp, pulling the entire thing to the floor and smashing the bulb.  So instead of testing how long it actually would last, we got to worry about the possibility of mercury poisoning in our toddler's room.  Nice.

Obviously, the fact that it got broken was our own fault.  But the fact that breaking it is a dangerous thing seems like poor planning on someone's part.  And it's not like we can just refuse to use light bulbs in the kids' rooms!

But my experience with other bulbs-- the ones we don't manage to break-- has been that they don't seem to last any longer than the old-school, not-eco-friendly ones.  In fact, Craig even took this picture as proof, he was so frustrated with them:

I believe Craig's words when he snapped this picture were, "Thank you, Al Gore."

Why hasn't General Electric (or any of the other light bulb manufacturers) made a better product-- one that works well, truly lasts longer, and doesn't pose a health risk in the likely event that it gets broken?  Could it be because the government already patted them on the back, told them what they had was good enough, and forced us to buy their crappy product?

Perhaps?