I'm not sure what happened.
I had a kidlet.
I also blogged.
Two years later, I still have a kidlet.
I have not blogged.
At all. (But, you should see me zing on Facebook!)
Looking back at the last handful of posts I managed to make in my bleary-eyed, new mama stage, I didn't even recognize the words, the voice, or even some of the witty shit that was typed. I've been gone too long.
The good thing is that I don't think anyone pays attention to this blog - so I can really get away with writing anything that I want.
Wait. I do that anyway.
So. . . let's not beat around the bush, let me give you a peek into the life of a Mama of a Spitfire child:
My child, who is too wise and too tall for his meager 2 1/2 years, followed me into the kitchen from the garage.
Kidlet: Mama. Will you take my shoes off?
Me: I can't right now. You can take them off, I have to put away the groceries.
Kidlet: Mama, I want YOU to take them off.
Me: I can't right now. (Continued putting away groceries.)
Kidlet: (More animated now.) Mama! TAKE. MY. SHOES. OFF.
Me: Okay. You open the straps and I will take them off.
Kidlet: No! YOU TAKE THEM OFF!
So, I leaned down and took his hand and placed it on the back of his shoe while I slid the shoe off with my other hand. . . thereby launching the more ginormous, eat-shit-and-die, broken-hearted, sob fest that I have ever seen. I sent him to the living room stairs to calm down and offered to talk to him about it when he was calm.
**10 minutes later**
Kidlet: (Head peering out around the corner) Mama. I'm ready to talk about it now.
Me: Okay. Come on into the kitchen.
Kidlet: Will you please put my shoes on?
Me: Sure. (Putting him on the counter and pulling on both shoes.) Maybe we can go outside and play now?
I am not exaggerating or kidding when I say that this little punk then looked me in the eyes and said, "Now, you take them off by yourself."
. . . . OMGWTFBBQ?
For those of you who are still reading and NOT laughing at my expense, he was pretty upset when I then told him that I wouldn't do it - but then we both compromised as he opened the straps and I removed the shoes.
Seriously. My baby is a Spitfire.
And he came by that honestly.
Monday, July 18, 2016
Thursday, May 8, 2014
THE TRICKLE DOWN EFFECT.
I used to change my underwear frequently. Perhaps three times a day - or whenever necessary. I didn't "shred" them, if that is what you are thinking. But, I sure did make like a boy dog on a walk. . . and peed. A lot.
When I became un-pregnant, I figured it would wane. I thought that it would slow down and eventually go out without a bang. And, I was right. Until two days ago. . . when I sneezed and managed to squeeze out a large drop.
It felt like quite a bit made it past the floodgates, but somehow, miraculously, my underwear was saved. I was actually ready to go commanda (that's the feminine version of "commando".) So, you might ask, where did the flow go? Was it actually so hot out that it immediately evaporated upon exit from my body? Am I lying and I actually wet my pants? Could I have pushed out a puddle and quickly reabsorbed it?
I have no idea. But, wherever it went, I hope it stays there. I'm just glad it didn't force me to "lose" my underwear in a public bathroom.
When I became un-pregnant, I figured it would wane. I thought that it would slow down and eventually go out without a bang. And, I was right. Until two days ago. . . when I sneezed and managed to squeeze out a large drop.
It felt like quite a bit made it past the floodgates, but somehow, miraculously, my underwear was saved. I was actually ready to go commanda (that's the feminine version of "commando".) So, you might ask, where did the flow go? Was it actually so hot out that it immediately evaporated upon exit from my body? Am I lying and I actually wet my pants? Could I have pushed out a puddle and quickly reabsorbed it?
I have no idea. But, wherever it went, I hope it stays there. I'm just glad it didn't force me to "lose" my underwear in a public bathroom.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
FLYING TIMES.
Today, the Hub and I took Baby J to the Air Show. The Blue Angels were performing and I really needed a funnel cake. It was hot but breezy. We used copious amounts of sunblock. On the baby. Also, a SPF 50 hat. On the baby. Let's not also forget the noise cancelling ear protection. For the baby.
In the end, Baby J seemed to enjoy the day outside as much as Hub and I enjoyed the nearly obscene people-watching. Apparently, when it comes to shorts, "high waisted" also means "camel toe." I just need to say this. . .
When your child is capable of walking long distances while easily "keeping up" with the adults in your group, s/he probably doesn't belong in a stroller. At all.
This is doubly so when your child's legs are so long that their feet constantly drag under the front wheels. You can't even be mad at your kid for this. It's not like they ran over something and stopped the flow of traffic. No. YOU ran over your kid. Ugh.
Reconsider your use of a stroller. You look as suspect as those parents who tell themselves that "it's a backpack" rather than a leash attached to shoulder straps. Really.
Meanwhile, I am not an innocent of stupidity. The Hub and I are completely sunburned. I'm talking about my hair-part, face, forearms (GREAT start to this year's farmer tan!), and the backs of my legs. Basically, I look like the new girl at the make-up counter got at me with a handful of blusher, I am a married Indian woman with a Sindoor (go "google" it, lazy-pants!), with 3/4 red gloves on my arms, and some really ill-fitting leg-warmers. Hooray. So much for leading by example.
In the end, Baby J seemed to enjoy the day outside as much as Hub and I enjoyed the nearly obscene people-watching. Apparently, when it comes to shorts, "high waisted" also means "camel toe." I just need to say this. . .
When your child is capable of walking long distances while easily "keeping up" with the adults in your group, s/he probably doesn't belong in a stroller. At all.
This is doubly so when your child's legs are so long that their feet constantly drag under the front wheels. You can't even be mad at your kid for this. It's not like they ran over something and stopped the flow of traffic. No. YOU ran over your kid. Ugh.
Reconsider your use of a stroller. You look as suspect as those parents who tell themselves that "it's a backpack" rather than a leash attached to shoulder straps. Really.
Meanwhile, I am not an innocent of stupidity. The Hub and I are completely sunburned. I'm talking about my hair-part, face, forearms (GREAT start to this year's farmer tan!), and the backs of my legs. Basically, I look like the new girl at the make-up counter got at me with a handful of blusher, I am a married Indian woman with a Sindoor (go "google" it, lazy-pants!), with 3/4 red gloves on my arms, and some really ill-fitting leg-warmers. Hooray. So much for leading by example.
AND TIME RESETS ITSELF.
It is official. Our home version of the factory floor safety board has been reset. Again.
This morning, I heard my lovely son talking to himself and peeked my head in the door to see just the top of his beautifully hairy head cresting up to see me. As I got closer, I reached out to his adorable smile and then recoiled in terror. The smell was secondary to the mustard colored stain next to my baby. Upon closer inspection, I saw that there was a larger stain UNDER my child as well as ON his light blue and white striped onesie.
Counter is reset. Again.
This morning, I heard my lovely son talking to himself and peeked my head in the door to see just the top of his beautifully hairy head cresting up to see me. As I got closer, I reached out to his adorable smile and then recoiled in terror. The smell was secondary to the mustard colored stain next to my baby. Upon closer inspection, I saw that there was a larger stain UNDER my child as well as ON his light blue and white striped onesie.
Counter is reset. Again.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
DISTURBING RITUAL
We have a system. In the morning, a final feeding takes place. As our child talks himself into awareness, the Hub gets up and brings him to me in bed. There, I give him the last direct-from-the-source nourishment until after work hours. This morning, we heard the man-child stir and begin to talk his five month old gibberish around 545AM.
As the ritual runs, the Hub got up to procure a baby for the feast. But, he didn't return. In fact, the happy talking turned to cries of frustration. Have you heard a hungry baby cry with a nipple nary in sight? Frustration.
Just as I was about to flip the blankets off and rush into the baby's room my Hub appeared in the dark doorway. I could just make out his outline holding what looked to be a very tan and naked child in a diaper.
Cautiously, I whispered, "what happened?"
The quiet response, as my Hub continued to hold our baby delicately but also as if in sacrifice to some dark Goddess of Bowel, was, "there is shit. Everywhere. Shit. It is the worst blowout. Ever. Shit. All over the crib sheet. Shit. Oh, the shit."
Motherhood has apparently changed nothing about my personality. I rolled over and lifted the blankets for baby insertion, boob still hanging out ready for action, and said, "if you got all of the shit off of him, lay him down and I will feed him before I leave for work."
Ritual. It is a good thing.
On an aside. . . Baby wipes are great for removing shit from a kid - once you have wiped it dry. Do you understand, people? There is no wiping shit, which is made from some illogical wetness, too, with a wet wipe. If the wipe is too wet, you just manage to make a shit paste and spread it more evenly all over your child, rather than lifting the offending substance away as planned. Live, shit, and learn.
Live. Shit. And learn.
As the ritual runs, the Hub got up to procure a baby for the feast. But, he didn't return. In fact, the happy talking turned to cries of frustration. Have you heard a hungry baby cry with a nipple nary in sight? Frustration.
Just as I was about to flip the blankets off and rush into the baby's room my Hub appeared in the dark doorway. I could just make out his outline holding what looked to be a very tan and naked child in a diaper.
Cautiously, I whispered, "what happened?"
The quiet response, as my Hub continued to hold our baby delicately but also as if in sacrifice to some dark Goddess of Bowel, was, "there is shit. Everywhere. Shit. It is the worst blowout. Ever. Shit. All over the crib sheet. Shit. Oh, the shit."
Motherhood has apparently changed nothing about my personality. I rolled over and lifted the blankets for baby insertion, boob still hanging out ready for action, and said, "if you got all of the shit off of him, lay him down and I will feed him before I leave for work."
Ritual. It is a good thing.
On an aside. . . Baby wipes are great for removing shit from a kid - once you have wiped it dry. Do you understand, people? There is no wiping shit, which is made from some illogical wetness, too, with a wet wipe. If the wipe is too wet, you just manage to make a shit paste and spread it more evenly all over your child, rather than lifting the offending substance away as planned. Live, shit, and learn.
Live. Shit. And learn.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
BONUS ROUND.
I guess you are wondering what is with the sudden spurt in posting. I promised to get back to blogging. And, though I know very few of you well enough to be held accountable, I will keep that promise.
While my hands have been kept too busy to type, I haven't lost track of a million things that I want to tell you. All of the shit that happens when you become unpregnant, stuff that happens when you have a Hub, a baby boy, a Miniature Schnauzer, and a cast of balls-to-the-wall friends and family, and you go back to work. . . It all makes for good story telling.
I'm sure you can guess that the focus of this blog won't be about pregnancy anymore. . . But, I'm pretty sure you are tired of that anyway. Two years of bitching and moaning doesn't make for good entertainment. Though, I'm not sure you came here for the laughs.
For now, welcome back to my life. I'm getting back to it and am happy to have you along for the ride.
While my hands have been kept too busy to type, I haven't lost track of a million things that I want to tell you. All of the shit that happens when you become unpregnant, stuff that happens when you have a Hub, a baby boy, a Miniature Schnauzer, and a cast of balls-to-the-wall friends and family, and you go back to work. . . It all makes for good story telling.
I'm sure you can guess that the focus of this blog won't be about pregnancy anymore. . . But, I'm pretty sure you are tired of that anyway. Two years of bitching and moaning doesn't make for good entertainment. Though, I'm not sure you came here for the laughs.
For now, welcome back to my life. I'm getting back to it and am happy to have you along for the ride.
FLUSHING MY PIPES
I bet you think you know me. You are wrong. This post isn't about poop. Nyah!
During pregnancy, all of my luxurious Asian hair grew longer and thicker every day. Two months after dropping my lovely load (I just had to sneak in a shit joke, right?) my hair started falling out like gangbusters.
I'm not talking about a few hairs here and there. I'm talking about giant handfuls and clumps of make-a-new-me amounts of hair. In the shower? I think it came out easier with conditioner. One night, it was so bad that I called the Hub into the bathroom to help gauge just how serious the hair loss had become. We ranked my affliction somewhere between obese Himalayan cat at the beginning of summer and chemotherapy. Yes. I just wrote that. And, it was.
So much shedding that I cleaned out my bathtub drain with one of these
several times. More impressive was the yield. We're talking about handfuls of knotted, mystery gunk filled, how the hell did water pass this shit, wads of hair that seemed to stretch on for days. I think I pulled some of those clumps back from the sewer main. Across the street.
Not only was my hair falling out in clumps, it was doing so UP FRONT, people! Suddenly, I knew the plight of every receding hairline! Ugh.
Google does wonders to calm you. . . If you read the right stuff. The right stuff in this case being: hair fall (there is a janky shampoo commercial out about this) ceases during pregnancy, often because a body expends energy on something else (like making a human) and can't waste it on regrowing hairs that naturally fall out. So, when you finally get back to normal, and are unpregnant, you body has some catching up to do (did we already discuss bleeding for weeks?). According to the intarwebz, normal hair growth and loss will return by the 12t month. That is a year. That is a long time to wait.
Lucky for me that the major loss has slowed and I am back to cleaning the air return registers only once a week. However, all of those hairs that fell out in groups are now growing back in. Let's just say that in a few months, I am going to look like a crackhead cut my bangs. Until then, I look like I have spiked fringe above my temples.
Ladies, remember to clean your drains. Your family will appreciate it.
During pregnancy, all of my luxurious Asian hair grew longer and thicker every day. Two months after dropping my lovely load (I just had to sneak in a shit joke, right?) my hair started falling out like gangbusters.
I'm not talking about a few hairs here and there. I'm talking about giant handfuls and clumps of make-a-new-me amounts of hair. In the shower? I think it came out easier with conditioner. One night, it was so bad that I called the Hub into the bathroom to help gauge just how serious the hair loss had become. We ranked my affliction somewhere between obese Himalayan cat at the beginning of summer and chemotherapy. Yes. I just wrote that. And, it was.
So much shedding that I cleaned out my bathtub drain with one of these
Not only was my hair falling out in clumps, it was doing so UP FRONT, people! Suddenly, I knew the plight of every receding hairline! Ugh.
Google does wonders to calm you. . . If you read the right stuff. The right stuff in this case being: hair fall (there is a janky shampoo commercial out about this) ceases during pregnancy, often because a body expends energy on something else (like making a human) and can't waste it on regrowing hairs that naturally fall out. So, when you finally get back to normal, and are unpregnant, you body has some catching up to do (did we already discuss bleeding for weeks?). According to the intarwebz, normal hair growth and loss will return by the 12t month. That is a year. That is a long time to wait.
Lucky for me that the major loss has slowed and I am back to cleaning the air return registers only once a week. However, all of those hairs that fell out in groups are now growing back in. Let's just say that in a few months, I am going to look like a crackhead cut my bangs. Until then, I look like I have spiked fringe above my temples.
Ladies, remember to clean your drains. Your family will appreciate it.
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