Monthly Bill

Disclaimer:  Girly talk to ensue.

So, I think I may have just pumped for the last time.  A measly 2.5 ounces.  I remember when my milk was first coming in 2.5 ounces was a BIG deal.  I would pump and we would excitedly pour it into a bottle and see how much I made, and I would feel proud as I produced more and more.  And then it started to suck...but I think we've already beat that horse dead. 

As it was going horribly wrong, I couldn't wait to be done.  Now that I am done; physically unable to produce much at all...I feel kind of sad.  Not sad because I feel guilty about stopping (I've already ridden that roller coaster), just sad.  Giving Henry my milk felt good...it was like a connection between us.  Something I could give him that no one else could.  And just being able to produce milk meant that the whole process wasn't over.  We found out I was pregnant right before Christmas last year.  For the last year I felt my body changing.  I watched it change.  It was the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me.  Being done producing milk means the monthly bill will probably start coming again here shortly.  Then everything will be back to normal.  I will have come full circle, completed the whole cycle.  I just feel sad about it today. 

When I was about 18 weeks pregnant, I was laying in bed one morning and felt the tiniest little nudge.  I think it actually happened a few times before it even caught my attention.  I remember the instant I actually noticed the feeling...zeroed in on it.  And I realized it was Henry.  What a feeling.  He was actually in there...moving around.  Becoming the little pumpkin that I'm watching sleep as I write this.  

(The calm before the storm.  I was in labor a week after this photo was taken.)

I can't believe I'm saying it...but in this exact instant, here and now...I miss being pregnant.  I may want to be pregnant again in the future.  Whoa. 

Okay, its over. Whew, the moment passed.  Now I remember projectile vomiting for 4 months.  Once I threw up a bagel in the shower.  Okay, the moment is definitely over. 

So, now that I know we have some family reading this...I'm going to try and post more Henry pictures.  I know that is what everyone wants anyway.  My ramblings are just the vehicle for more pictures.

The littlest sheriff you ever did see.

(He looks so surprised in these pictures!)

Our cute little cow-poke is now thirteen and a half weeks old.

These jammies were on quadruple mark-down at Baby Gap.  I HAD to get them.  When I got home I realized they had a yellow warning tag attached to them:  This garment is not flame resistant. 

I didn't realize flame resistance was such an important feature in infant pajamas.  I'll have to remove the tiki torches from around Henry's crib.

Dear Santa

I had a wonderful patient yesterday...think of your average grandma and then add a bunch of piss and vinegar.  She was hysterical and really made my day.  Anyway she kept telling me that she was going to write a letter to Santa if I didn't treat her nice.  So it got me thinking about what I want from Santa this year...

Much to my surprise I actually got a phone call from Santa on my way home from work.  He was inquiring about what is on my Christmas list.  It's odd how much Santa sounds like my mom on the phone...

So all this Santa talk got me thinking about what I want this year.  More specifically what I want for Henry.  There are plenty of things I want for Henry this Christmas...even though he really won't be able to appreciate the magic of getting toys on Christmas morning.  I think I want the experience more for myself than for him (I know...selfish!).  I have been thinking lately about quite a few things I want for Henry that are actually a little more...intangible.

-I want Henry to grow up happy.  I want him to be smiley and full of laughter.  I don't want him to be a Hell-on-wheels brat like I was.  Its going to be hard not to spoil the poop out of him though.

-I want him to be healthy more than anything.  I want him to be able to run and play and rough-house with daddy.  If he wants to sit and play with barbies...I'm okay with that too. 

-I want him to be the kind of person that doesn't hit someone in a parking garage, dent their car...and then drive away.  No note.  What a dill-weed.

-I want Henry to let us tuck him into bed...until he leaves for college.  Like my parents did me...hand to God.  I would not lie about something like that.  And to this day, I love them more than anything for it.  Bedtime at our house was somewhat of a ritual. We all went to bed at the same time...10 pm.  I always got tucked in and told how much I was loved.  I want to give that to Henry as long as he will take it.

-I don't want Henry to be a quitter.  Looking back on my life I am ashamed to say...I have been a little bit of a quitter.  And I'm not even talking about the big things, like optometry school (whole 'nother story).  I'm talking about little things, like the golf team in high school, knitting projects I get a quarter of the way through, jobs that I hated.  If I didn't like something...I just quit.  I don't like that about myself.  To my parent's credit they just wanted me to be happy, so I hope we have the strength to encourage Henry to stick with things.  Even if he doesn't like it.

-I want him to be like Michael.  Michael has such a strong, unwavering sense of what is right and what is wrong.  He is not swayed by anyone or anything.  He grew up with his nose tucked in a book...helping his mom pack the diaper bag when he was 3.  He has been responsible from the womb.

-I want Henry to be a little like me.  A little whipper-snapper.  I want him to have fun...within reason.

-I want him to be the person on ABC's TV show 'What Would You Do?' that sticks up for people.  I want him to be the one that gets in the action and stands up when he knows something is not right. 

-I want Michael and I to be great parents for Henry.  I want for us to be supportive of him. No matter what.  When I had a break-down sophomore year of college, called my parents and told them that I wanted to transfer schools and be a marine biologist...they were very calm.  I mean, to their credit, they knew I was just having a rough patch.  But anyway, I want us to be able to remain calm when Henry throws us curve balls.

-I want Henry to be able to laugh at himself.

-I want Henry to inherit his father's athletic ability and grace.  I go through life like a pin-ball, ricocheting off walls and furniture...a complete klutz.

There are so many more things I want for Henry.  I want everything for him.  I just asked him what he wanted...

More milk...go figure.

Shopping Black-Out

What's up!?

Its been an AGE since I have been able to sit down and write.  We have been busier than a one-legged man in a butt kickin' contest.  Michael's dad and sister have been here, and are leaving tomorrow morning...;(

Thank goodness they were here, we have been a hot mess.  I  have been hoarse and scratchy and coughy.  I sound like I have a solid two pack-a-day habit.  Michael has strep-throat...he actually went to the doctor.  That is huge.  He is the most stubborn man ever when it comes to seeing medical professionals, which is funny considering he is one.  He could just write himself a prescription, but he would never do that.  Its against the rules, he says.  He is a big follower of rules. 

I worked today...and again tomorrow.  Say your prayers no one codes on me tomorrow.  I had some bad ju-ju surrounding me at work today.  All my patients went to crap...simultaneously.  Cut to me running around like a chicken....Don't follow the lighhhhhhht!!!!!!!!! Not on my watch.

Hopefully Henry doesn't come down with this crud we have passed around.  I don't know if I could handle it.  Having Michael's dad here made me instantly lose all confidence in my mothering abilities.  I would just look at him, like "Are we doing the right thing?" As if he would tell us if we weren't...he's way too nice.

I wish I had intruding parents and in-laws.  Between them they have raised 4 children that are delightful, lovely and kind contributing members of society.  That can't be a coincidence.  Shoot...I'll sit down with a steno pad and take notes. I need all the help I can get.  (By the way, I did just include myself in that delightful and lovely group...which is probably a hotly-contestable point).

I have to get to bed, but I'll leave you with this nugget.  Brigitte and I went shopping on Saturday and I now own skinny jeans.  I got caught up, that's my only explanation.  I had a shopping black-out.  I came to in the parking lot and realized that I'm not cool enough for skinnies...or the boots that I got to wear with them.

Gobble, Gobble

Happy Turkey Day!

The bird is cookin', the cider is on the stove, and the holiday season has commenced :)

I can't quite get into it until it is at least Thanksgiving.  Michael has been swirling around the kitchen this morning whipping us up a feast.  I don't think we are going to eat until later this afternoon.  After all, we did have pancakes and bacon this morning for breakfast.  Go big or go home, right?



Papa Steve and Auntie Brigitte have been loving them some Henry, Oh boy!!! And he has played his part, charming the socks off them, all smiles and gurgles and coos.



I am feeling so incredibly thankful today it is hard to put into words.  We are snuggled up on the couch, watching some football, good food smells wafting through the house.  Henry is playing with his toys, content as can be and the kitties are curled up in front of the heat registers.  It is a good day. 

I am missing my parents today, but we have already spoken twice.  I am in charge of the gravy...Mom is on call.

This year has been filled with some terrible losses; family and friends that were here one day and gone the next.  Gone far too soon.  Working this weekend was hard...people that just want to be healthy and spend Thanksgiving with their families are still there today.  And they may or may not have family visiting.  They may be getting bad news as we speak, cancer doesn't respect holidays.  I am thankful for my job, that allows me to be there with them, hold their hand and help pick up the pieces. 

I am thankful that my family has their health right now.  I am thankful for my wonderful friends, who support me through thick and thin.  Moving to North Carolina was such a leap for us, and we could not have been more blessed.  I am thankful for Piglet.

Most of all, I am thankful that my husband cooks.



 Love you all, Happy Thanksgiving!

Kitchen Bitch

I am the kitchen bitch.

I don't know what I am doing.  Michael runs the show;  he says, 'Stir'; I say, 'for how long?'

He mixes and beats and follows the recipes.  I follow behind him washing everything (muttering under my breath that I should have waited to clean the kitchen)  He is a cooking tornado.  I am TOTALLY comfortable with this arrangement.  I can not be trusted with feeding anyone...except Henry.  And he doesn't even take his bottles warm (one less thing I can screw up). We used to warm them, but then we realized he was more upset waiting for the bottle than he was drinking cold milk.  So now he gets cold milk, and doesn't mind a bit.

He is like his mama; when he wants to eat, he wants to eat NOW.

Michael volunteered to bring the turkey for his office Thanksgiving.  So we are making two turkeys this year.  I don't know how the 4 office ladies and Michael are going to go through that enormous bird, but I'm not asking questions.

I saw a few posts on Facebook this morning concerning Thanksgiving dinner preparations and cooking strategies.  I really wish this could be me.  I wish I liked to cook.  I wish I had a talent for just 'throwing things together' and impressing everyone.  My mother and grandmother wish this for me too.

To their credit, they will not give up on me.

My grandma even gave me a subscription to Taste of Home.  I had no idea she was doing this; it just started coming to the house.  If that's not a hint I don't know what is. 

Instead the magazine comes; I glance through it and see something that looks tasty.... and then I ask Michael to make it....

I definitely know that is not how they wanted it to go down.  Oh well.

When I do decide to try and make something it is a day long process that involves several phone calls to my mother.  Is this the right size dish? How long should I let it sit? Should I let it thaw before I cook it? How many cans of this do I use? Is it supposed to look like that?  What do I do next? It looks funny, I think I forgot the vegetables, is it to late to add them? 

I think on those days she just puts her cell phone in her pocket and hunkers down.  I love her so much.

And after all that, it just doesn't taste good.  It doesn't taste like my mom makes it.  It doesn't taste like anything. Its just bland. I cook beige food.  Its gross.

So I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving full of non-beige food, friends and family.  If you want I can come over and clean up.

Tumbleweeds

Shopping for and trying on jeans is like repeatedly getting kicked in the stomach with a steel-toed boot.

You thought you were a size 8...hahaha.

You just march right back out there and grab that 10, and maybe the 12 too. Just to be sure.

I can just feel the sales associate's eyes on me, as I do the scurry of shame out of the dressing room in my socks for my progressively larger sizes. 

I want to shout, "Yes I had a baby.  I have back fat, thigh cheese and thick ankles.  Do you have a cut that matches that description, because I don't think your curvy line is quite cutting it."

Dressing room after depressing dressing room....I finally found them.

In New York and Company of all places.  I have never shopped there before but this wayward traveler was ready to try anything.  Come to find out, they have some pretty cute things and some good deals to boot. 

The Curvy (naturally) Boot cut.  Fit like a glove.  A big glove, but a glove.  I think they are pretty cute too, not mom-ish in the least. No taper here, no acid wash, no holiday embellishments (as I once saw a lady with a sequin snow man on her butt).  I think I did pretty well for myself, the rise is pretty high which holds in all the bits that need holding.  I don't think low-rise jeans are anywhere in my immediate future.  The contrasting stitching also sort of stirs the lust in my heart for a great pair of cowboy boots (or cowgirl boots, as the case may be).  I have always wanted a pair, but them are expensive!



I want you to know that those shoes haven't seen the light of day in years.  I busted them out because I love y'all so much.  In my younger, wilder days of yore they used to be part of my 'bar uniform'.  You know, the one seen across college campuses nationwide.  Jeans, cute top, heels, man-hungry look in the eyes.  You've seen it, trust me.

I better go vacuum my house now.  Michael's dad and sister are coming for Thanksgiving, and I just saw a ball of cat fir blow across the hallway like a tumbleweed.

Moms don't have bar uniforms...just in case you were wondering.

Mom Jeans

So I'm thinking its high time I reentered the land of the living.  Taking the nearest exit off of Elastic Wasteband Avenue.

Its just not a good look, day after day. And, alas I can not use the excuse that I have a newborn anymore.  My newborn is now 3 months old...nearly.  Crap.  Now I really have to get dressed...attempt to put something on my body that looks half-way decent. 

I got an email from a person that started this fashion website called, Looksville.  Apparently, she saw my blog and thought I would be a fun contributor to the site.  To all who know me; Is that not the most laughable thing you have ever heard!?  While I am very flattered, I can barely put myself together, let alone critique someone else's fashion choices. 

I mean, I know the basics, but by no means am I out there setting trends or anything.  Unless hooded sweatshirts can be a new trend.  Can I get credit for being the first on that bandwagon.

So now that I am going to try and make an effort...Uggh.  I have to examine my closet:

Maternity jeans, old jeans I got from a friend when she was cleaning out her closet and didn't want them anymore, older jeans I just can't seem to let go of because at one point they were my "skinny jeans" and they hold fond memories, new jeans that are pre-Henry that don't fit right now and sweatpants.

Hmmmm....

I suppose that means I need to face reality (that ugly bitch) and get a new pair of jeans. 

Wish me luck, and say your prayers that I don't come home with a pair of mom jeans.

Are you Breastfeeding!?

How many times am I doomed to tell this story.

"Ohhhhh Henry is so precious, are you breastfeeding!!??"

(Thinking to myself, here we go again) "Nope, we tried and it just didn't work out."

"Oh no, You should have called me! Breastfeeding really is the best thing you can do for your baby. And its such a wonderful experience!"

Thanks for the update Anderson Cooper.  I didn't realize breastfeeding was the best thing for Henry.  We took a whole class to learn how to breastfeed him just for fun; we were never really planning on doing it.

I wish I would have known to just call you, and forget about all those lactation consultants I was on the phone with day after day.  If I just would have called you, I'm sure it would have worked like a charm.

People mean well, people mean well, people mean well.  This is my new mantra.

Goodbyes

My very dear friend lost her kitty this week.

Pi was a lovely and round orange cat.  He was friendly and I liked him a lot.

Unfortunately, he was hit by a car and he didn't make it.

We all have pets that we've lost over the years that hold a special place in our heart. 

Today I am remembering my kitty, Moses.  He was a great cat and he just got too old, too arthritic and too tired.  We had to let him go. 

I am dreading the day we have to explain to Henry why Fatty and Skinny couldn't stay with us forever.  It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. 

So this is for all the good pets out there that couldn't stay with us forever.  We love you.

Last Day

Today is my last day of maternity leave. 

Please excuse me while I wipe away some tears.

Tomorrow I return to work.  Eeeek.  Work is stressful, busy and sometimes scary.  Being a nurse isn't easy...we don't sit around at the front desk and eat bon bons with our legs propped up.  We don't take cig breaks every 20 minutes.  I'm not sure where these myths came from, but that is what they are...highly mythical myths.  It is going to really stink not having Sunday and Monday with my boys anymore, but this way we don't have to use daycare for Little Man yet, and I get to be home with him for most of the week.  Michael and Henry get to have man-time on Sunday and Monday.  We'll see what kind of trouble they get into. 

I can't believe 12 weeks has gone by since Henry arrived.  That is simply unbelievable. 

It got me thinking though, now that my official maternity leave is over does that mean we are supposed to have everything figured out?  Isn't that what maternity leave is for?  Get to know your baby, figure out how to mother him or her.  I am. Not. There. Yet. 

Is my body supposed to be back to normal (as Us Weekly would have me believe)?  Because there is definitely some really...meaty...sections around the sides that I didn't used to be able to grab and smoosh around so easily. 

Can I not blame my forgetfullness on 'baby brain' anymore?  Now, that is a real bummer.

Can I not blame my sometimes overly emotional state on having 'just' had a baby.  Double bummer.

As we took our trip to Babies R Us to pick up the Bumbo a few days ago, we were listening to the radio.  This is actually kind of unusual because many times I just forget to turn on the radio (Michael can not understand this).  The silence just doesn't bother me...I actually kind of enjoy it.  Sometimes Henry and I just talk.  Well I talk, he usually just listens.  I have all this...stuff...just swirling around in my brain.  Good thing I started the blog right.

Heartland's, 'I loved her first.'

Holy Lord. Cue me, driving down the street.  Balling my eyes out.  And I don't even have a little girl, and I'm not a father! It just made me think about my dad.  Surely, that is not allowed now that maternity leave is over with. 

I just want to say thank you to the old man in the truck that pulled up beside me at the stop light and looked over at me, very concerned.  I had to give him this pathetic, 'don't worry! I'm fine!' wave.  Embarrassing. 

So if you ever see a woman driving down the street...crying...check in back to see if there's a car seat.  She may have 'just' had a baby...3 monthes ago.

Bed Rest

I know...a third entry today. Enough already!!

BUT, I hadn't planned on writing that last one; it just happened.

Michael just got home from work so I can finish up this little diddy.

I really wanted to share a fun idea for all those great mommies-to-be stuck on bed rest...

I know, it sounds great in theory.  Not so much in reality.  It is insanely, mind-numbingly, ass-tinglingly, shoot-me-now...boring.

I was on "modified bed rest" so I was able to get up and move around; I just wasn't allowed to do anything too strenuous.  So I don't know if this will work for you, if you are actually stuck in bed. But you can try!

Drum roll please...DIY nursery artwork!!!!

I could not find much I liked in the way of pictures to hang on Henry's walls.  I didn't want to get the ones that matched the bedding set, because I thought that was too matchy-matchy.  I know...give me a break, right.  So I got some canvases from the craft store, and bada bing-bada boom.  Artwork.  I am NO artist, so if I can do it, YOU can do it.  And its fun! 

Plus...
A set of 2 big canvases = $5
A set of 3 mini canvases = $7
Paint = maybe $4
Brush set = around $5

MUCH cheaper than buying real artwork.  Plus when Henry gets old enough and realizes his room is more 'cutesy' than 'manly', I won't feel bad about giving them the old heave ho. Who am I kidding, when that day comes I'm going to ball my eyes out...but not because I wasted money on expensive artwork...;-\


Just let your creative juices start flowing and let the good times roll...

I always thought the letter idea was cute.

Michael saw the fun I was having and wanted to try out his hand...

(He copied the pattern that is sort of in the background on Little Man's crib sheet. Its kind of moroccan-esqe.  He wouldn't let me see it until it was completely finished...we had a big unveiling. It was all very dramatic.)

Last but not least, The Baby Dino

(Our boppy cover has little dinosaurs coming out of their shells...hence, got the idea to paint a little set.)

I also purchased a big piece of poster board.  I would draw what I wanted on the poster board and than cut it out and use it like a little stencil kind of thing.  I would have failed miserably trying to free-hand paint.)

It was really fun, and kept me busy for a day or two. 

After your little peanut makes its grand debut you can use him/her for artwork!

We needed a little something over the new kitchen peninsula, and there's not much I like looking at more than Henry.  Thus, I slapped some kitchen utensils in his hands...stuck him in a mixing bowl.  Instant kitchen art.  The black and white prints were 13 cents a piece and the three frames came in a package from Costco for $14. 

Good Luck---Don't pull your hair out.  You'll be in labor before you know it.  Then you'll be longing for the day when you were just laying on the couch, comfy as a bug in a rug.

In the Soup

I'm going to preface this by saying that I have brutally honest friends. I love that.  They are not afraid to save me from myself.  One of these friends called me and told me that Michael just sounded a little too perfect. And it was kind of annoying. 

Oh my dears, I assure you he is far from perfect.  And I am even further from perfect (as you've probably gathered from this blog). 

He may have emptied my urine from countless bedpans, but his undershirts still find their way onto the floor beside our bed, while the hamper sits about 10 paces away. He plays Tanagrams on his cell phone while we're laying in bed at night. Or boggle, or any other number of word games.  He likes to pretend he is some sort of sniper or something and shoot things with the X Box.  He leaves half full cans of pop all around the house.  One of his feet looks like it crawled out of the Black Lagoon, yet the other one is perfectly normal. He jerks so hard when he is falling asleep that I jump 3 feet clean off the bed.  He leaves dishes to "soak"...yeah, like he was actually going to go back and wash it.

I always forget to empty the dryer lint trap.  This is gross, but I don't flush the toilet when I pee in the night because it is too loud and it wakes me up.  I forget almost everything he asks me to do...5 minutes after he asks (he knows and expects this now).  I can be moody and pissy.  I almost never cook.  True story.  When I do cook, I ruin it.  It annoys Michael to NO end that I stop so close the car in front of me at stop lights. 

We got an engagement picture set in one of those frames where you can write on the matting around the photo; everyone wrote something at our wedding (we had a very small wedding).  This photo is hanging in our bedroom.



There is one thing that I absolutely love about it.  Michael's grandfather wrote:

"You're in the soup, so make the best of it."



I love this.  I try and think of it everyday; I remember that no marriage is perfect, no spouse is perfect.  No one is perfect.

Keeping this in mind; our days are filled with laughter (for the most part) and hugs and the good stuff.  We are making the best of it.

And when I tried to enroll Michael in a toenail fungus medication study at the hospital I work at...he just smiled and went with it.  Sometimes it is very hard, but you just have to smile and go with it.

Sacrifices

I no longer use my alarm clock, because I have a baby.  Built in alarm clock.

When Daddy and Henry woke me up this morning all I wanted to do was keep sleeping.  It got me thinking about some of the things we give up for our little piglets (or at least some of the things that I have given up).

Sleeping in.  Sleeping as long as you want and just laying in bed and luxuriating in the sheer joy and comfort that is sleep.  I love sleep, probably more than the average Joe, but I love it even more now.  When I started going back to the YMCA to work out (post-Henry), I would drop him off in the nursery and the ladies would practically trip over each other running to hold him.  I realized I had like free babysitting (well I guess we are paying for it, but you get my point) for a good hour.  I had to fight the urge to bring a sleeping bag and pillow and just roll that sucker out in the locker room.  I was this close.  The thought still crosses my mind every time we go.  I'm sure the other moms would completely understand and tip-toe quietly around me. 

Daily showers...sometimes I just don't get around to it.  I wish I could blame this on Henry... so I'm going to and leave it at that.

Wearing real outfits as opposed to just pajama pants, yoga pants, sweat pants. Or just plain pajamas.  I feel like the crew of What Not to Wear is going to knock on my door and tell me they've been filming me for the last two weeks.  Okay, Okay.  I really can't lie about this one either.  My nursing school friends can attest that I rarely wore real outfits before I had Henry.  Wow, this is getting depressing.  I guess Henry hasn't changed much...I'm realizing I'm just a lazy slob.

Handbags.  I LOVE handbags.  Audrey Hepburn likes to hang out at Tiffany's...I like to hang out at the Coach store.  It just makes me happy to be in the presence of such beautiful bags.   My latest beauty, before I gave birth...



The sales lady saw me coming from a mile away.  She spotted me eye balling it, stroking the soft leather...loving it.

"I have a brand new one in back...its never been touched by human hands.  Besides the person that sewed it I guess."

"I'll take it" The words flew out of my mouth before my brain even registered what I was saying.

That beauty has been in my closet since Prince Henry arrived on the scene.  Now I have a wallet that holds my cell phone and a lip gloss and it gets stuffed in the baby bag or underneath the stroller.



I mean it is a pretty wallet that I took time to pick out...I'm not an animal.

Modesty.  I have never been a particularly modest person, but its all out the window now.  After giving birth it just doesn't seem to matter anymore.  My poor mother-in-law, who was on the scene at the birth along with my mother, and stayed for a week after Henry was born, saw way more of me than she ever bargained for.  Poor woman.  My mom birthed me and wiped my butt, so I don't really count her; she has seen it all before.

I'm sure Michael would appreciate some more mystery in the house.  The poor guy can't round a corner without having a boob in his face.  When I went into pre-term labor and was put on a magnesium sulfate drip I could not get out of bed to pee (which I had to do hourly).  I refused to call my nurses every hour to put me on the bed pan (having been on the other end, I know how annoying that would be). So guess who got that pleasure.  That's right...poor, poor, poor, poor Michael.  I really have no more to say on that...helping your wife on a bedpan speaks for itself.

Date nights...and getting my swerve on without having to wear a sports bra and nursing pads. Am I right?

Dr. Sears A.H. (Ass Hat)

I could spend Henry's nap times doing a lot of things...like coming up with something (besides the same 5 things we have on rotation) to eat for dinner.

Today I thought I'd check out the Dr. Sears website. Maybe I would pick up some helpful tid-bit.  He is supposed to be this fantastic and famous baby expert right?

Everything was fine, and then I read this little dandy:

"Swinging down. Wind-up swings for winding down babies are a boon to parents who have neither the time, energy or creativity to muster up rituals of their own. Tired parents will pay anything for a good night's sleep. Once in a while a moving plastic seat may be more sleep inducing than a familiar pair of arms. Sometimes high-need babies associate a parent's body with play and stimulation and will not drift off to sleep in a human swing. For them the mechanical one is less stimulating, if not downright boring, and therefore can be a useful part of a sleep-ritual repertoire. Yet remember, high-need babies are notoriously resistant to mechanical mother substitutes and will usually protest anything less than the real mom. Before you actually spend money on a swing, you might want to borrow one for a week or two to see if the spell of the swing will last. You may discover that you are uncomfortable with mechanical mothering and decide to get more creative. Still, swings have their moments."

http://www.askdrsears.com/html/7/T070300.asp

WELL. Dr. Sears; Thanks a million for making me feel guilty during my one free moment of the day.  Yes, so I do own a baby swing...and a vibrating bouncy seat.  No, I do not carry Henry around, strapped to the front of my body 15 hours a day.  Sorry for being selfish, but he's a bit of a chunk and I don't want to resemble the Hunchback of Notre Dame by the time I'm 30 (which isn't too far off).

Occasionally he enjoys snoozing in his swing or playing in his bouncy seat.  I'm not going to lie, occasionally I enjoy it too.  Maybe I should be a human kangaroo, but I have other things to worry about right now.  Henry is not mechanically mothered.  So this is what I have to say to you.  Dick. 



Okay, so rereading this...maybe I am being a little hormonal and overly-sensitive (and slightly defensive). But my argument still stands.

On a lighter note...Check out Mr. Man in his Bimbo...I mean Bumbo.

By the way...I blow dried my hair today because Henry is 12 weeks old and I wanted to take a picture of us for his baby book.  Suck it Dr. Sears.



Bimbo

"I think we need to get Henry a bimbo."

Huh?

"Yeah he has really good head control, look at him sitting! He needs a bimbo."

????

"One of those seats..."

OHHHH...a Bumbo!

Thanks for the chuckle daddy...I don't want to get Henry a bimbo, but I will pick him up a Bumbo. Plus I don't think they sell those at Babies R Us.

One of my long-time best friends texted me last night.  She informed me that my post from yesterday has scared the *bleep* out of her and when she decides to have children...she may just opt for the c-section (which is NO picnic, I'm sure!).  While, I know she was kidding; instilling fear in the yet-to-be-mom-crowd was definitely NOT my intention!! 

Tearing and blood and goo...and stitches in your vagina.  Its not that bad...

Did that not sound convincing?

Things are just a little different down there post-baby.  One of my friends regaled me with one of her post-baby-bottom tails.  Unfortunately for her, the "six pound...TOPS, baby her doctor had promised her...turned out to be a nine pound baby. Surprise!!" 

It resulted in some bad tearing (which doesn't happen to everyone, so really don't be worried...honest.)

One fine day the fam decided to take a trip to the water park...sounds harmless enough.

Picture the top of the water slide, where the water shoots out.  Attempt to sit down backwards ("Look at me go down the slide backwards..Weee"...like that). 

Well for the post-baby-bottom involved this stream of water acted somehow like an enema...resulting in some serious cheek-clenching all the way down the slide, and one harrowing run to the water park restroom.  No. Joke. 

But if that hadn't happened, we all wouldn't be cringing...and laughing a little bit right now. So that's the upside. 

Things will return to normal...Girl Scouts Honor (three fingers up).

Undie Sundae

Disclaimer:  This post is for pregnant women.  If you are not a pregnant woman...don't say I didn't warn you.

I saw on Facebook the other day an old friend of mine asking other women for tips on labor and delivery.  It got me thinking about what I could not have lived without during my delivery and recovery.  Michael and I signed up to take a birth and parenting class.  The class was semi-helpful, but totally worth the $100...when they taught me this little nugget. 

It's called the Undie Sundae, folks.

This gem is to sooth your aching lady bits after delivery...and trust me, they will be aching.

Your nurses can provide you with all of the necessary "toppings."   You will need...

Sexy Mesh Underwear

(Unless you have a serious aversion to mesh underwear, I wouldn't wear your own because they WILL get ruined.  I had a pair of Costco underwear that I hated more than anything in the world, and I designated them just for this purpose.  I wanted them to die a horrible death.)

Giant Pad

(The ultra-thick variety that they gave you in fourth grade.  When you learned about about periods and arm-pit hair and stuff)

Perineal Ice-Pack

Witch Hazel Pads (Tucks)

(That's right, they're not just for hemorrhoids anymore.  Trust me, it feels good.)

Epifoam

(This is a prescription steroidal foam that you can recieve in the hospital.  It helped me with soreness and inflammation.  Plus it causes a very...nice...warming sensation.)

Keep these things in your hospital bathroom, near the toilet. 

When you use the restroom (which will be scary the first couple of times.  Don't worry that's normal.  Just wait until the first time you have to poop.)  Use the perineal squirt bottle, do not wipe. I have a special place in my heart for that bottle.  It saw me through some rough days.



Step One.  (I am combining Step 1 and Step 2, because my computer is taking forever and Henry will be up soon.)  Place the giant mattress pad in the mesh undies...on top of that stick the activated perineal ice pack.  In the photo I substituted another pad in place of the ice pack.

Step 3. Place three Tucks Pads along the pad.

Step 4.  Spray little dollops of Epifoam on top of the Tucks Pads.

Viola...that is the Undie Sundae.  I would not have survived healing from a vaginal delivery without it. 

I can say 12 weeks later, that my bits are back to normal and the reward for my pain was definitely worth it.

P.S. After describing to one of my non-mom friends the wonder of the Undie Sundae, she suffered a particularly nasty bikini wax.

Bam... Undie Sundae to the rescue.

June 2018 Update

Hey you lovely pregnant person! If you want to see my current shenanigans you NEED to check out my Youtube channel! You get to witness my general misbehavior live and in person. If that doesn't scare you I don't know what will. My channel focuses on daily planning and different memory keeping ideas. There are a lot of memories coming your way in the form of that little fetus you are currently toting around, so come check it out! And in keeping with my personality there is a healthy dose of sarcasm and maybe some swearing involved. So maybe wear headphones? 

CLICK HERE TO VISIT ME ON YOUTUBE!

Please hang out and subscribe while you're there (there is also a handy subscribe button in the sidebar of this post. Push it. I dare you.) I'll be forever grateful. Thank you, you hot mama, you.

The Great Flange Burning

I'm finally almost done...with the breast pump.

The angels are singing and God light is shining down on our house right now. 

I have been pumping and giving Henry my milk in a bottle since the whole breastfeeding thing was a disaster.  Everything was hunky dory (besides being chained to it) until I realized that I could not only feed Henry but also every other baby in a 5 mile radius.  I would pump and give him milk and still have ounces upon ounces to freeze.  There isn't another instance in life that I can think being an "over producer" would be a bad thing.  Being productive is generally considered to be a good state to be in...no.  Not when it comes to breast milk. 

What a fracking hell it was.

Mastitis...antibiotics...ductal yeast infection....mastitis...antibiotics...ductal yeast infection.  You get the idea. 

Quadruple ouch.

Weaning off of the pump has been a very long process...You can't just quit.  They don't tell you that. Even when I don't want to pump anymore.  My boobs still make milk.  Damn it. 

I needed to wean because I go back to work at the end of this week and pumping just isn't realistic.  Among other reasons. 

It is nearly impossible to get out of the house when you have to time the smallest errand between when Henry is fed, changed, happy, I've pumped and we've loaded up the car, etc. You are left with a 15 minute window before you have to start the whole process over again.  Someone give me a gun.  Even though I'm only going back to work two days a week, I barely have time to take a 30 second pee break...let alone a 15 minute pumping break (2 or three times in a 12 hour shift.)  My unit is full of very sick individuals.  I love my patients...I don't want to jeopardize their care anymore than I have to.  Excuse me, don't die right now...I have to go pump.

We still have about a month or more of frozen milk for Henry...of course that is supplementing with formula as well.  I feel like I've done what I could do.  I'm done feeling guilty about it.  If you are a soon to be mom, please do not beat yourself up about making decisions that benefit you.  You are the mom...A baby needs a happy mom just as much as anything else.  A happy mom/wife=happy life. I firmly believe this.

Besides, if I have to wash and sterilize another breast pump flange...I'm going to lose it.  Commit me. 

My breast pump has been great (especially using it 6-8 times a day for weeks on end).  The Ameda Purely Yours Ultra...if you're interested.  So I will fight the urge to throw it from a second story window and blissfully watch it smash into a zillion pieces.  I will not start a bon fire and happily watch the plastic flanges melt down into puddles.

I shudder to think this...but we may need it again someday.  Oye.

Mustard Butt

Henry must have sensed that I wasn't feeling like a 10 today.  He took about a 3 hour nap and I slept also.  Usually I use his nap times to be productive, but sleeping felt so good.  I was supposed to have a good friend over for lunch, but I called her and told her not to come.  I didn't want to get her sick if I'm coming down with a bug. She's pregnant; pregnant women do NOT need another reason to be nauseous.

I actually had to wake up Henry from his nap to feed him.  I broke my number one rule.  It just seems like if he goes longer than 4 hours with out eating during the day he is up more at night trying to catch up.  That sucks. So I woke him up.

There are no ruffles that could have contained the load he had in his diaper.  A major case of mustard butt. The one that takes 12 wipes to clean up, and is so big you have to cram it into the Diaper Genie opening...We bought the Diaper Genie Elite II.  Not just the Elite I...the Elite II.  We fell for it. We needed a poop bucket that was not just average...but elite.  I must admit that we do like it.  It was one purchase that was probably worth a few extra bucks.

I am SO disappointed that I had to cancel on my friend!! I even gave Henry a bath this morning so he would smell like a sweet, fresh baby.  I love talking to pregnant women, I even talk to pregnant strangers...I am one of those people that probably creep you out and are waaaay too interested in your personal affairs.  When are you due? Boy or girl? Do you have a name? Have you decorated the nursery? Have you been feeling well.  Yeah. Oh well. At least I won't touch you.  One of my patient's wives would always put her hands all over my belly.  I really liked her so it didn't bother me so much, but it is a little weird.  Even when she pinched my back fat and told me I was having a boy because of said weight distribution.  Old ladies can get away with anything.

I just wanted to thank everyone that has read and given me feedback, advice, tips and praise.  I love it and it just makes me want to write more.  Us moms need to stick together!

I will really try to stick with it. Unlike the diet journal I try and start... at least twice a week.

I loudly proclaim to Michael, "I am going to start a food journal!"

Be accountable, and diligent...and good... and instantly lose 10 pounds.

Pardon me, while I count the number of times I have attempted and failed at this task.  I can't even count.  Hundreds...I'm not even kidding you. 

Each time I start and then fail I have to rip out the previous day's page.  Its like I can't even have that failed page of the food diary staring at me.  Mocking me.

To his credit, every time I make this magical proclamation, Michael tells me that it is crazy and I don't need to lose 10 pounds.  He is my angel.  My muffin-top-loving angel.

Ruffles out, Dan!

Whenever I change Henry's diaper, I always think to myself, "Ruffles OUT, Dan!"  I just picture Jim Carey in Ace Ventura Pet Detective (I HATE that movie) yelling, "Laces OUT, Dan!"

One of the things I learned as a new mom was that the diaper ruffles have to be out.  They can't be tucked in...poop will go everywhere.  I know it really shouldn't have taken me as long as it did to pick this up.  I am an only child...I was never around babies. Except when I was babysitting and then I was probably just counting the minutes until the kids went to bed so I could just sit on the couch and watch TV. 

New moms learn several things very quickly...

-Never wake a sleeping baby.  You will regret it...no matter what.

-Boys WILL pee on you...and the wall and anything else in spraying distance.  Duck and cover.

-Babies don't need daily bathes.  Its only cute the first couple of times...then its sort of a pain. Dragging out the baby tub and baby wash and baby cream.  Once every couple of days will do ya.

-Put a pad on everything...even things you can't imagine them being able to poop on.  Henry could have 5 pairs of pants and a snow suit on and he would still manage to poop on his swing.  Disassembling and wrangling that thing off, washing it and reassembling it requires a PhD.

-You don't need to turn the baby monitor on.  Especially if their room is right next to yours.  There is NO way you are going to stay asleep if they wake up.

-Babies are noisy.  See above.

-Do whatever you can to sleep.  Once Henry fell asleep on his changing table when I was changing his diaper; we have one of those pads with the big dip in the middle.  He was probably 5 weeks old, and I'm not going to  lie to you...I strapped him in, covered him up and got a good hour nap in.  He wasn't going anywhere.  Please don't send child services to my house.

-Now you can talk to yourself out loud at the grocery store, mall, etc. and not look psychotic.  Everyone thinks you're talking to your baby.

-I don't have all the answers...I never will.  Henry thinks I do though.  He thinks I am pretty great.

Neurotic Grooming

So Michael wants a dog.

I want a dog too...in theory.

I just want a dog that doesn't smell like a dog, make messes like a dog, pee on the carpet like a dog, chew on things like a dog, make me take it for walks in the winter...like a dog.  What are you left with?  A cat. Well, we already have two of those sooooo. Where does that leave us?

Michael found this adorable black lab on Craig's List named Oliver.  The owners have to find another place for him to live...and he comes with all of his things.  They want to be able to come and see where he will be living and be updated on his progress.  So it doesn't sound to me like they are getting rid of him because he is a bad dog.  Of course in the post he is just staring up with his cute little face.  Love me. Play with me.  Feed me.  I can just hear him.  I SO want to be the cool wife that just throws caution to the wind and says, "Go for it, honey. Sounds like a great idea."

Not that Michael needs my permission to get the dog, but obviously he really wants me to be happy about it too...and I really want to be. 

Fatty and Skinny are like dogs in cat suits.  They are not typical cats that just lope around and mind their own business. They want to be on you like white on rice.  They follow us around the house and beg to have their bellies rubbed.  Pathetic.  When we brought Henry home from the hospital Fatty started getting bald spots all over his stomach.  He is now almost completely bald on his stomach and has been diagnosed with a condition called, "neurotic grooming."  He was so upset by our new addition that all he could do was sit and chew on his stomach.  When we got up one morning and found a pile of his puke in the middle of the kitchen table we knew he was crying out for help, on the verge of a cat nervous breakdown.

He is just starting to get semi-back to normal.  If we brought a dog home...I shudder to think.  I just keep picturing him throwing himself into the wall, repeatedly. Like a mentally otherwise-abled cat.

Fatty...teets to the wind



Sorry Oliver, there's no room at the inn.

Demonic Goats

5...4...3...2...1...It's go time. I'm gonna go there...I'm going to talk about childbirth. Pushing a human out of your body...well my body.  And yours too, if you're a mother. 

We, actually I, rented The Back Up Plan on Saturday night.  Michael would never have selected that from Red Box, I guess he shouldn't have sent me out to get dessert.  I know what you're thinking, J Lo. acting...its like watching a train wreck.  But the movie was HIGHlarious.  We laughed through the whole thing. Now I don't know if that's because we just went through that whole pregnancy/childbirth hoopla, but it was pretty funny and scarily accurate in some instances.  There is one scene with a woman giving birth in one of those inflatable tubs (more power to ya if you are one of those women...but I'm just going to have to say, Ewww.)  She is yelling and making these crazy goat moans.  It is so funny I thought I was going to pee my pants.  Which is a lot more likely now after having Henry. 

My experience was muuuuuch different.  There was no moaning, groaning, grunting, sweating, yelling, etc.  I got off easy.  I owe this ALL to the wonder of the epidural.  I say the word epidural with a quiet, worship-like reverence.  Ladies, it is a beautiful thing.  My butt was so numb...Osama could have been camped out in that cave and I would have been none the wiser.  To top it all off the epidural made me itch SO bad....so I got to have IV Benadryl.  To all the nurses out there...how do you knock out a patient?  That's right, push that Benadryl like you are dealing crack on the sidewalk.  It felt like I had 5 martinis and then I fell asleep for a good hour and a half.  At which point I woke up because I was hurting...which alarmed me.  I was very happy not feeling one damn thing.  My doctor meandered in...I think he was just coming in to say that he was going home and the next doctor would be the one to deliver. Ha, we showed him...

He checked me and I was fully dilated.  From 5 and half to 10 in an hour and half (while I was blissfully napping) I know there are women out there right now that want to line me up in front of a firing squad.

"You'll feel better once you start pushing."

Excuse me. Start pushing? Pushing what? Pushing the baby out? Now? I thought this was supposed to be like a 30 hour long process.  I haven't mentally prepared myself for this step yet.  I'm not focused. I'm not ready!! 

I looked at Michael and he looked...prepared.  He always looks prepared.  Its irksome. So he held one hand and my mom held my other hand, and I pushed.  Or at least I think I pushed.  I scrunched up my face and made the motion like I was pushing. I couldn't feel a thing...I have no idea what I was doing.  Apparently it worked.  Henry came sliding out like a greased ham.  I know, ewww.

They put him on my chest...goo, slime, blood and all.

"He's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen."  That is all I could say.

All without a single goat moan.  Epidural...think about it.

The fruit of my labor



Funny Kids

Our neighborhood is FULL of kids. They range from babies to about 11 years old and they all travel in a giant pack.  They have the run of the place...no one's yard or driveway is off limits. We will come home to find our driveway covered in sidewalk chalk artwork.  Its great, I love it.  If you have swings in your yard, they are fair game.  When I pull in our driveway and the kids are out they will inevitably come running and tell me all about....well, everything.  All at once.
Who has a birthday coming up, who has a turtle named Stanley, who thinks riding bikes is better than swinging, who likes strawberry ice cream more than chocolate...and so on and so forth.  When I was pregnant the three kids that live next door to us came over one day and gave me something they had made.   A lump of  blue clay with bird feathers sticking out all over.  Real bird feathers....they had found on the ground.  I love kids.  I guess its a paperweight?
When Michael got home from work on Saturday afternoon I heard the kids come running from inside the house.  The little girl from next door guessed that Michael's dad's birthday was in January...

"I knew it. I have a sixth sense, my whole family does.  Its because we're from Canada." 

HAHAHA. Where do kids come up with this stuff!?

We had some friends over and grilled out tonight.  This RealNewMom had 3 beers...in a row.  I'm about to fall over.  I love Blue Moon's seasonal beers, they are so good!!

We had a great time, thank heavens for good friends.

Bonders

There are so many reasons I love Michael.  When he asks me what I want for dinner and I say, "frosting" he doesn't say, "Wow you're a fat pig, try a chicken breast."  He asks me if I want him to go to the grocery store and get some...

Of course I don't eat frosting for dinner...as much as I would love that.  I'm trying to get rid of the last bit of baby weight.  Aren't we all? Its actually almost gone; everything is just ...squishier than it used to be.  That's okay I wasn't planning on busting out the leggings or skinny jeans today anyway.  Baby weight is a whole other entry in itself! Gaining 11 pounds in one month deserves to be written about.

I got to thinking about how much I love my husband when I got to sleep until 10 am this morning.  I don't have words to describe how marvelous this was.  Henry didn't wake up until 5:45 this morning and after I went back to sleep Michael got up with him at 7:45 and I just kept on sleeping...awesome.  He is an incredible father.  Another reason that I love him.

Michael is Catholic and before we got married we were required to take this day-long marriage prep class.  We were not especially excited about spending an entire Saturday doing this, but we had a great time! We talked about a lot of things that usually don't come up in everyday conversation.  The lady that led the class talked about how couples need to have "bonders." Activities that you both enjoy and can do together.  Something that allows you to reconnect in your otherwise hectic lives.  Aside from obvious activities.

I suggested canooing.  "Our bonder should be canooing...or hiking...or rock climbing!"

That would be fantastic except we've never done any of those things. I guess we've "hiked" but it was more of a walk than anything else.

I pictured us scaling walls and climbing rocks, looking like one of those fresh, athletic couples from the LL Bean catalogue.  Unfortunately that is not us.

The truth is our bonder is watching TV together.  We both enjoy it; we talk about what we are watching. Make comments about unfortunate looking people on HGTV.  Its not fast and furious and exciting, but we enjoy it.  What are your bonders? Is there another activity in which we could participate that involves almost no movement what-so-ever?

Booger Snatchers

Let me set the scene for you: Michael and I both hunched over Henry as he is laying on his changing table.  He sneezes and the booger flies out of his nose and then sucks back in...quick like a rabbit.  Son of a biscuit. We both hover near waiting for the next sneeze. Will one of us be quick enough to grab it and fish it out of his tiny nostril.  Welcome to parenthood.  It is probably unnatural how rewarding I find using the saline nasal drops and bulb suction to clean out Henry's snarffly nose.  Getting out a huge booger just feels so great...its like something measurable I did for Henry that made him feel better.  That feels good.  What can I say, I'm strange. 

As I was laying in bed last night and my brain wouldn't shut off, I got to thinking about how I want Henry to grow up. The kind of parent I want to be.  My mother-in-law once mentioned how she would take Michael and his brother and sister to the grocery store.  She would turn it into a game and ask them to grab 'two of the yellow cans, one of the blue cans'...you get the idea.  I have no idea why, but ever since this image has been burned into my brain.  I just picture this perfectly coiffed mother breezing down the market aisles, conversing with her perfectly behaved and helpful children in a lovely sing-song, pre-school teacher voice.  Now that is a great mom.  Will I be that mom? Or will I be the other mom...the one frantically searching the shelves to grab what she needs as quickly as possible. Before the rising screams of her baby become too much for other shoppers to handle.  Her greasy pony tail, stained sweat pants and wild-eyed look certainly make you question how good of a mother she is....Yep.  The frustrating thing is, that frantic, slowly melting down mom is probably wonderful...she just doesn't have it all quite pulled together yet.  I think we are still somewhere in the middle.  

We haven't mastered that easy, breezy, beautiful...Cover Girl mom look yet.  We have all seen those moms and wondered how they had time to blow dry, curl and style their butt length locks.  And put on make-up! What!?  I'm two days from just shaving my head and calling it good.  One less thing right?

Past and Present

Henry is napping. If you're wondering how I have all this magical time to blog...that is why.  I should probably be doing dishes, laundry, vacuuming, scooping the litter box, etc. This is more fun though.  As I was scanning the Facebook feed this morning I was just surprised at how many pregnant people there are! Everyone. is. pregnant. Or they just gave birth or they are about to give birth, or they are thinking about getting pregnant again. Babies everywhere.  About 4 years ago everyone posted pictures of their drunken shenanigans...now everyone I went to high school and college with is posting engagement photos, sonogram pictures and baby photo shoots.  One of my best friends from high school just had a baby. Seeing as how I was living away from her and one of my other best friends in our early twenties, they used to drunk dial me at 2:30 am to tell me what kind trouble they had gotten into.  Which one had kissed the guy at the bar wearing manpris (those are men's capri pants. Yes, it is that bad), who had fallen off of a curb and broke their foot (actually those are both things I did in my hayday...whoops).  She just called me the other day to tell me she was sending me Enfamil coupons...because they are using Similac.  Really.  Are we grown up now? I kind of miss those hilarious phone calls. Moms don't make those phone calls though...do they?

Speaking of close friends, we all have those friends that you can talk to and you don't have to censor yourself; its great, right! You can just say whatever you think and they won't judge you.  I got to talking to one such friend the other day about how everyone is pregnant.  At this point in time the idea of having another baby is not high on my list. Actually its not even ON my list. 

I said, "The idea of being pregnant again and having another baby is just repulsive right now." 

"I know someone who is pregnant."

"Oh really! Who!?"

"Me!"

Well shit. Excuse me while I dig my foot, my purse, the kitchen sink...out of my mouth.

"Oh my gosh that is SO great, I just meant I wouldn't right now because Henry is so little, blah blah blah."  There is no digging out of that hole.

Have you ever done something like that? Situations like this happen to me all too often.

Peninsula

I wanted to post a picture of my new love...the penninsula. Maybe having all this extra counter space will inspire me to cook...if Michael is reading this he just laughed. Hard.

That is a full weekend of back-breaking labor.  Michael's back that is. I stained the wood! I also helped tile...which turned into a bit of a fiasco. But anyway, I think its pretty awesome ;)

When we put Henry's pajamas on at night we sing a little song we created to the tune of MC Hammer's 'Hammer Time'.  It goes a little something like, "jammy time..na na na na. NA NA."  Well, it is stuck in my head this afternoon. Very annoying.  There is also a Songs for Learning CD that Mike uploaded and so I play it while Henry sits in the kitchen while I wash bottles and load the dishwasher, etc.  ALL of those songs are on a loop through my head. 

If you are wearing blue, stand up tall. If you are wearing blue stand up tall. There is also a wicked awesome (can you say that if you are older than 15?) guitar solo in the middle that we jam to.  Well I jam to it, Henry just kind of watches, sometimes he smiles.

Pterodactyl Arms

So I got up to feed Henry last night at 1:00 am. Usually that's not until about 3:30 or 4:30 am, but more on that new evil later.  So we sat in bed and I cradled him in my arms and he gazed up at me with his big blue eyes (aren't all baby's eyes blue for awhile?).  He ate and cooed and we looked at each other lovingly.  NOT.  That would not be how that went, thanks for playing though.  It usually goes more like this: wailing wakes me up and I get up in a huff (why I still haven't come to terms with getting up in the middle of the night, I do not know), I stumble down to the kitchen to get a bottle....Yes, I know, I know.  He is bottle fed.  It'll give him something to talk to his therapist about.  We tried breastfeeding...it just didn't take. What can you do?  SO....

I get back up to his room, usually having tripped over a cat or two.  He is grunting, snorting, sucking his fists and crying all at the same time.  I get him up and sit down to feed him...and then the arms start going.  I call them the 'pterodactyl arms'.  I don't know why, I guess it just looks like he could take off and soar over the neighborhood.  He starts eating, which he can't do fast enough.  Then he suddenly forgets how to breath and eat at the same time...which leads to more grunting, gasping, choking and crying.  Then in my sleep deprived state I begin to wonder. Does my child have a learning disability that he doesn't remember how to breath and eat simultaneously from one feeding to the next? There goes the Nobel Peace Prize he was going to get (at the age of 8, no less). So we continue on like this until the bottle is empty.  Praise the Lord. I forgot to mention there are several burps smattered in there, with usually one or two healthy fountains of spit up that result in me changing my sleeping attire before I go back to bed.  I love my Henry.  BUT THIS IS MISERABLE.  Are we doing it wrong? Is it the wrong nipple? Am I giving him a complex, an unhealthy relationship with food? The questions go on and on.

In the mornings I usually watch all the baby shows on TLC. A Baby Story, Bringing Home Baby, Make Room for Multiples, yada yada.  I guess it just gives me some peace to know other people are doing the same things we are? Anyway, during this one episode the mom was going on and on about how wonderful everything was, and sunshine was just pouring out of her ass all the time.  What is she doing that EVERY moment is so priceless and beautiful.  Yes, there are plenty of priceless and beautiful moments...but there are plenty that...aren't.  Am I somehow a terrible mother for pointing this out? Am I selfish for wanting some time of my own now?  I fight with myself on a daily basis and think, yes...I probably am being selfish. But that is something I am working on. 

So the TV mom was talking about how she cherished the hour she got after everyone else was asleep when she got to stay up and feed her little angel.  Excuse me, but if everyone else is asleep...I want to be asleep too!  I can't decide if she is Mother Teresa and the best mom in the world, or if shes just lying because of the TV cameras? I like to think its the latter.  If you are thinking I am a terrible mother for saying some of these things then you may not want to continue reading my blog...because I've plenty more where that came from.

P.S. I love being a mother, and I love Henry more than life.  Sometimes it all just makes me want to cry.  Is that okay?

Fall Back

So we "fell back" last weekend.  I feel like I'm still falling. Our house is out-of-sorts; Henry is back to waking up twice a night, instead of his usual once.  I know, boo-hoo right.  He is a great baby; I just got used to only getting up once during the night.  It was glorious.  Our two cats, Fatty and Skinny, are in an uproar. They are little sh*ts and they know exactly what to do to annoy me.  We're trying to sleep at night and Fatty jumps up on my night stand and knocks my glasses on the floor, then my cell phone.  Then he jumps on the dresser and continues to knock things off until either I get up and put him in the basement or Michael staggers up out of bed, cursing, chasing him down into the basement where he gets shut in the office.  Things need to settle down I tell ya!  On an awesomer (good word right) note; we built a kitchen island. Well, *we* was more like my husband, and I guess its more of a penninsula than an island.  In any case, its amazing and wonderful.  I'm hoping now when I open the pantry spices, vitamins and various measuring cups don't come toppling out, pelting me in the head.  One can dream.

Books

So I just started my blog! Yay...for me this is a feat as I am completely technologically unsavy (is that a word?) Sometimes I just feel like sharing, and while I'm sure my son Henry loves to hear my musings on different subjects maybe an adult audience would enjoy as well.  Maybe not, we will soon see! 

As I was designing my blog background, which I am ashamed to say took way more time than it should have (do I go with simple or fancy, earth tones or jewel tones??); I saw the book template.  It just seemed to fit.  I am/was an avid reader, until I, as my husband so eloquently puts it...pooped out a kid.  Now I don't read as much as I would like, but the reading I manage to do now is much different.  No longer are the days that I can tuck into a delicious romance or mystery novel and get lost in the story.  Don't get me wrong...I would love to do that. But I find my tastes run more towards the "parenting book" variety these days.  Books on infant sleep, infant play, infant scheduling...you name it.  I cling to the information in these books.  I feel like if I can do it the way Dr. So and So says to do it, everything will be okay.  I will not irreversibly mess up my child.  If I can make Henry nap for 2.5 hours, eat for half an hour and then play for 1 hour and then start the whole process over again, he will sleep for 12 hours a night and be a genius.  Inevitably, he does not follow these rules, why would he??  One afternoon, as I was trying to follow the newest book's rules for scheduling, I was discouraged because he just wasn't following the books prescription.  My husband, Michael, didn't understand why I was so frustrated.  "He'll eat when he is hungry and he'll sleep when he is tired."  Well, yes I suppose he will, but this gives me no structure.  It gives me no hope that sometime in the near future we will find a routine, a new normal.  I want to feel normal again.

Then it hit me.  My normal is gone.  Gone are the days of carefree napping, taking off to the mall on a whim.  There is a new normal...it doesn't have a face yet though.  This normal is under construction, in development, making progress.  My new normal starts much earlier in the morning than I am comfortable with.  It involves copious amounts of poop and analysis of said poop; more laundry then I've ever done in my life (try leaving spit-up covered onesies in a hamper for more than a day...the smell will make you retch)and dodging fountains of pee.  At that way-too-early hour I scoop Henry out of his crib, cover his face in kisses and fill my nose with his sweet baby smell.  I feed him and when his tank is full I get smiles and gurgles and grins.  I watch him play with his daddy, I watch him sleep, I suck his cheeks and blow raspberries on his round tummy.  I like the way this normal is shaping up.

So when I look at my blog I see books galore. While those shelves will probably be filled with parenting books for some time to come, I'm okay with that.  I will *try* not to obsess over their contents and let Henry lead me in the right direction.  Maybe someday I'll get to wedge a romance novel somewhere in there again.