Thursday, June 30, 2011

Sumo Poop

My kid got my poop gene. I know he did. Why? Because he goes for days without pooping. He is crabby, and mean, and terrible. Then, all of the sudden it's like a sumo wrestler shit in my kid's diaper. Then, he sleeps for one whole day and night. I would sleep better too if I had just expelled 1/10th of my own body weight. What's worse is that it's not uncommon in breastfed babies to not poop for what happens is their waste starts to ROT INSIDE OF THEM. Yes, you read that right. Rotting poop. His farts have smelled like rotten eggs for days. I have been waiting for the moment to come to fruition. It always happens when you least expect it. Like getting him up from a nap, and talking on the phone to the eye doctor about your upcoming appointment, and trying to open his diaper, and holding the phone with your shoulder to be so shocked by what you have just unearthed that you DROP YOUR PHONE IN PEANUT BUTTER POOP. Except it's not peanut butter. It's something that must be in one of the layers of hell in Dante's Inferno.

Just to look down at your phone and hear a tiny voice saying "Hello?" Then, try to explain that you will call them back because you just dropped your phone in a pile of poop and refuse to pick it up to confirm my sponsor's social security number.

I didn't sign up for this.

I signed up for baby coo's and the occasional spit-up. Not Poopapalooza. Seriously, I am a little traumatized. Speaking of traumatized, Charlie is.

By his car seat. For the first 2 months we called his car seat "the coma maker." Now, I lovingly refer to it as the "Turkey Maker."
We took that long ass trip to WV. It was TERRIBLE. First hour...he was great....then he started crying, which made him sweat, which made him cry. He seriously looked like and felt like a basted turkey every time we would take him out of his seat. He sweat through his clothes and you would think a baby could only scream for like ohhh an hour or two and then would pass out. NOT MY CHILD. No, my child can cry for 7 hours. Straight. We would turn up the radio, he would cry louder. At one point, I thought we were all going to cry.

Now, even short car trips involve dramatic baby butterball crying. It's horrible. He comes out of the car seat coated in sweat. We look like terrible parents that enjoy the air conditioning in the front seat and apparently stick our child in a small portable car oven.

Remember this post. Never ask to borrow my phone.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

My Pantry

This is the post that will either make you love me or hate me. It will be long, and filled with pictures.

When you are out in public and you see a bottle on the ground, do you immediately think, "I bet that is filled with homeless people's urine?" I do. Thanks Mom. As a child, I apparently really wanted to pick up those random bottles. Clearly the logical thing to tell an eight year old is that they are filled with drifter pee. Now, looking back I am left with a lot of questions...
Why would a drifter pee in a bottle? Isn't the entire outside his bathroom/house?
Is he some sort of beautiful mind hobo?
Does he have a urine distillery?

Now, I can't drink Mountain Dew out of a plastic bottle.

I totally have the potential to be a hoarder. That's why I need people to come visit me.

Did you know cockroaches can fly?

I found a cockroach in my kitchen today. I had a mental breakdown.

Seriously, on the floor of my kitchen. Charlie crying in his baby rocking chair, and me crying on the floor. Where did life go so wrong? I threw it in the toilet and peed on top of it for good measure. I am so ashamed. I am calling an exterminator. My Mom said it was probably from the dirtbag neighbor's house. I give his dog away and he gives me cockroaches? That doesn't seem fair.

 So, I got up and decided that Charlie would have to cry. I had to clean my kitchen. I just can't get the mental image of that fucker out of my head. So, I decided to clean out my cabinet.

Perhaps there were roaches in there. I pulled the oven out by myself and the fridge. There were none to be found.

I was torn between letting Charlie cry, and cleaning every inch of the kitchen because I have seen "Billy The Exterminator" and can't handle being the single Mom that lives in a trailer with cockroaches that are eating the glue that is used to construct my home.

Once I finished cleaning the floor on my hands and knees, I decided to go thru my cupboard. Here are a few things that I am going to share with you that I keep in my kitchen closet. I know I have them, and I keep them in there....I am kinda proud of these things, and also sort of terrified of myself at the same time.

This is my sweet closet plant. It's growing on a sweet potato I have had since December when my Dad came to visit.  I named him Bobby. I don't have the heart to throw him away, and he has repaid me by making himself at home. In another year, I will have a little sweet potato family. Judge away people. I can't throw it out. It has memories, you know of when my Dad came to visit for Christmas. I made Christmas ribs. Why? Because we live about 5 miles from a turkey factory, and we had to turn our water on when we first moved in and since then I WILL NEVER EAT TURKEY. It smelled worse than moldy feces. So, I guess between that, and it seemed like something Jesus-y we had ribs. And I had this little gem left over.

What's that bag behind Bobby? That's a bag of 4 year old cookies that my Grandma sent me for Christmas. I can't part with them. I am attached to them because it's from when she was still well enough to make cookies that looked like cookies. So, there they stay. Probably attracting cockroaches.

Yes, that's a lampshade. Yes, that is where I keep it. Do you have a better idea of a place to keep an extra lampshade?
When I was growing up my Mom kept the scissors on hooks inside our pantry...but not near the 5 feet in the air. I keep my scissors in a drawer and every time I pull them out, I think that I should have them hanging up somewhere. I use my parent's organizational system, to an extent. When I go to other people's houses I assume they use the same type of organizational system...
Did I mention that's the side of the pantry she kept our Halloween candy? Yea, right next to the dangling spikes of death.

Now, all I can do is think of how I have strayed. I keep lampshades next to sweet potatoes I have owned so long that I have named them and they are growing NEW potatoes.

Charlie, I apologize in advance for when you go to a friend's house and don't find lampshades in the place you think they should be.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Leopard Print Pants

So every time we go to the doctor, we discuss my milk production and how I freak out about not having enough. The doctors always reply with "well you should feed him on a schedule of every 3 hours. Babies love schedules."

Really? They do? Because I have a baby, and he doesn't seem to be into schedules. It's that simple? Just give him a schedule? It's that easy. How many children do you have? Zero? Tell me how that schedule works out for you buddy. Better yet, tell me how that schedule works out for your wife, because you probably won't be at home all day going out of your mind with an arbitrary schedule.

Baby, I know you are hungry, but it's not lunch:30 yet. Suck it up, we have a schedule to stick to. Time to get your ready for the work world kid. I am going to schedule your poos too.

Schedules don't work. Thanks for the simplistic advice of uselessness, that makes me feel like a failure at parenting though. I will make sure to send you a Thank You.

I haven't styled my hair in like 3 weeks. When I actually find the time to shower, I get out and IF I am lucky I have the time to COMB it. I am going to cut it off. I am going pixie. I have decided it's time. Yep. I've got a kid that pulls it out. It's time.

Here's to hoping I don't look like a boy, and that no one calls me shim this time around.

I get nervous about making style changes.

I've made some real bad mistakes.

I was recently reminded of the fact that as a senior in High School I had a boyfriend that was obsessed with Shania Twain, and in order to be more appealing to him, I bought a pair of leopard print velour bell bottoms. I also bought a pair of purple corduroy overalls. Which is more tragic? The overalls. Why? Because I bought both items at The Limited Too because I am the size of a tween, and the only problem is that I have a freakishly long torso. So, the overalls gave me the WORST crotch wedgie ever. I have purple, corduroy, camel toe from hell.

*side note...That boyfriend was the same boyfriend that asked to borrow every piece of spandex I owned for "wrestling" sleepover. He then called me the next day to pick up the 105 lb weight class guy Rodger (why I remember his name I will never know) to take him to the mall to get him sobered up. He apparently projectile vomited all over the walls and needed coffee to make him sober. Uhhh, sorry to break it to you...but he's not going to sober up from coffee. PS How did my spandex work out? Why were you wearing it? No I don't want it back. That break up was best for everyone involved. Maybe he thought that since I wore his Letterman's jacket, he could wear my spandex.

The leopard print bell bottoms were a train wreck as well. Don't get me wrong, but I loved them. In fact, I might still have them in a closet at my parents house. I save these kinds of things in hopes that I will have a child that thinks they are "cool." Those pants have a rip in the leg though. I was at a friends house and was walking to my car, when their Shelty named Kramer bit me and tore a hole in them. It's ok though. The dog was in THERAPY at the time. Seriously. On Prozac and the works. I've only been bitten once. I'd like to think he was confused by the leopard print, and was just having a "call of the wild" moment. He was just hunting me for my pelt.

What an unfortunate end to a very unfortunate pair of pants.

Chad still makes fun of me for those pants.

Suck It Neighbor

Ever fold your laundry, and in the middle of folding you think it smells dirty? Then you realize that it's you, because you have a screaming 3 month old that won't let you accomplish simple tasks like sleeping, or showering?


Just me?

I can't let him cry. This child is going to break me.

If you are going to have a reality show, MAYBE you should put away your stolen 30 million dollar artwork. Ryan O'neal.

So, I am going to tell you a short story about this lady I know.
This lady I know, has a real dirt bag of a neighbor. She called to complain about the amount of poop in his back yard. The fact that his dog doesn't get taken care of properly, and tries to run away once a week. Did I mention that they haven't mowed their backyard in over a year? I mean, did she mention that?

A REALLY huge scary guy came to her door. She did what anyone who peered out the side window and saw 250 lbs of muscle in gym shorts at her door. She went into the upstair bedroom, and sat there for 20 minutes hoping he wasn't going to break in. He went away and started going to other houses.

She decided to go get the mail about an hour later. The guy was still wandering around, and started walking towards her like a T-rex. She froze. He points at her and gives her the 1 minute sign. He then proceeds to tell her he found a dog wandering the streets while he was running. That the dog started running with him. He wanted to know where the dog originated and if i knew who's dog it was. He was on his way to go buy food for the dog. I said yes, I did know who's dog it was. Ahem I mean she said yes. She then proceeded to explain the dogs miserable exsistence. She tripledog dared him to go look in their back yard. Which he did. She then said, "I think you should just keep it."

It's been one month with no dog in that backyard.

Suck it neighbor.

I hope that it has a better life than living under a deck year round surrounded by feces.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Birds II

One more reason I hate birds.

We have birds living on our front porch. I may have mentioned before how much I HATE birds. But baby anything is cute, and I am in. We bought hanging baskets and these birds moved in the next day. They laid eggs in a week and a few weeks later there were babies. I thought they only had one batch. Apparently, I was very wrong. For a while it seemed like there was some form of bird sister-wives going on there. There were 7-8 birds all living in that one nest. Then, I noticed more babies in the nest.

We had a bad storm and tragedy struck. It was really sad. The planter came loose from the hook, and the nest and all the babies plummeted to their death. I found their remains the next day, and called Chad to come home and deal with it. He takes out the trash, mows the lawn, and takes care of all death related things.

After the murders occurred, we decided we should probably just not put the planter back up. I didn't really want them to come back and have that happen again. So, we took it down and moved on with our lives.

The commune of birds must have decided that this is where they were going to stay. So they moved to the top of one of our pillars.

 Which resulted in this:

May I present to you... the shit factory.

My Thursday In A Nut Shell

Charlie got his first group of shots yesterday. I don't know if you people know this or not, but they make you HOLD YOUR CHILD DOWN.

While they poke him with needles.

Then they pierce his soft, smooth, baby flesh and your heart dies a little inside. You want to punch the fucking nurse in the throat. She's smiling and saying how she hates doing it. Yea, I'm sure you do you little baby masochist. I bet you and Hitler go way back ya bitch. Meanwhile, I am standing behind Chad because I can't hold my kid down while he screams and his face turns red AND wipe tears away at the same time. Then, she picks him up and cuddles him in her dirty, kitty cat scrubs. Seriously, I look at those scrubs and think about how many toddlers probably pooped on them. Why not just cuddle my infant in a blanket made of SARS and cholera?

I put him in a new outfit for his trip to the doctor. I asked the doctor all sorts of random questions that he smirked at me over. I asked if I am having an allergy flare up if my histamines can be transferred in my breast milk to him, because occasionally his face looks like Will Smith's face in Hitch. I asked about taking him to the pool, and giving him rice cereal. All of which he said no to. Thanks guy, I am leaving here with as little as I came in with. I was looking for you to be like Bill Cosby and make going to the doctor with a baby like having a pudding pop. It's not like I am asking what brand of matches do babies like to play with the most, and how to feed him glass shards. Sheesh

We had errands to run. We needed stupid expensive dog food that only Petsmart carries because Gigi is the most HIGH MAINTENANCE dog on earth and only eats Nature's Recipe.We needed a new vacuum belt and air filters because I have owned our vacuum for three years and thought that my "20's method" of just buying a new vacuum because I didn't know how to change a belt might not be a responsible thing to do. Run-on-sentences rock.

I decided that we needed to eat. AND LIKE NOW! Part of my breastfeeding problem is that I go from zero to I AM GOING TO PULL YOUR KIDNEYS OUT AND EAT THEM in like 30 seconds. I decided that Taco Bell was the best option. In the middle of eating dinner I reach down to check on Charlie. I pull my hand out from under him and realized he had crapped EVERYWHERE. The best part is that earlier in the day at the Doctors office the people were like "be extra careful around his poop because this immunization can give your family the blooples." (I was thinking to myself at that point what on earth are other people doing with their baby's poop that they feel the need to state this?) Apparently, the Taco Bell poops happen a lot.  So, I had a little freak out over poop on my hands. We had no purell because we are horrible parents and FORGOT the diaper bag. Great. I now have the plague on my hand. For some reason going into a Taco Bell bathroom never crossed my mind. I would rather just walk around with the plague on my hands. What I am getting at is, Taco Bell even gives babies diarrhea.

I came home and disinfected. Then, I figured out how to put the vacuum belt on and changed out the filters. I am the FUCKING MACGYVER of household electronics.

Having children makes running errands the most impossible task ever.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

My Birthday Wish

I could go on and on about how the Army hates me specifically, but I won't. I will mention yet again that I hate the Army because (without getting too detailed) basically slowly over the course of several months gave us $2,000 that we assumed was ours. Then, they said no. Due to another dirt bag you have to give that money back that we already approved you to have. This was due to the finance department. They were all like "oops." Oops we need that back, because we have the mathematical skills of a turkey sandwich. Oh, btw, unless you otherwise specify you are going to have to give that back all at once.

We don't make much money. $2,000 is a lot to us. With that, I told Chad not to get my a Mother's day gift, or a birthday gift.

With my 30th birthday fast approaching, I thought I would give everyone else a few ideas on what to get for me.

The ACTUAL Zach Morris cell phone.

Half of a Snickers bar and a few swigs of Mountain Dew.

Pictures of everyone I know doing the robot.

Laser hair removal...on me...not you. I don't care if you have lip hair.

Hair that I didn't do myself.


All of my favorite people in the world in one place...You know all my college friends, a select number of high school people, all my friends from the Army, and my family...IN ONE PLACE.

I would like to be in attendance at that place too.


Ju-liz 22.

Make it happen everyone.

My party favor will be "awkward hugs."

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


I have a basket of laundry I keep folding half of and then throwing the rest of it on top, because I run out of time. It is driving me insane. What do I do instead of folding it? Write about it on here.

I left the back screened in porch door open, with the light on last evening. I now have what can only be described as Bonnaroo for flies.

I have a freak out every 2 weeks or so over milk production. Its pretty wicked. He will deplete all the milk stores in the freezer and then go back to nothing. But when he depletes that milk store I have small panic attacks over my failure to feed him.

I love and hate weekends. I feel like on Monday, and Tuesday, I am fumbling over trying to "relearn" my baby. It's so weird. It's the same when we go anywhere, or people come to visit. I feel like I lose the ability to know his cues as well. It drives me insane.

I cry every time I have to go thru his drawers and remove the clothing that is too small. It's so sad that I feel like he is already "slipping away" from me.

I have a new found love for my mother now that I have a baby. Not so much for all her weirdness (that I now think are super funny) but for how much I know she loves me. It's weird how having a child can connect you more with another part of yourself that you had long since forgotten.

Charlie rolled over from his stomach to back twice yesterday. He goes in cycles for his sleep. Last week he slept all day and night for a few days, then he was up all day yesterday. Today, I think he will be sleepy baby again. I like sleepy days. I get stuff done, and when he's up he's super super cuddly and fun. He's not trying to claw my face off because he can't figure out how to turn the milk machine on.

I have a Grandma with advanced Alzheimer's. I can't make up my mind about visiting her, and it makes me sick to my stomach. Should I remember her the way she was, or go visit her in her nursing home? I would like her to meet Charlie, but he won't remember it, neither will she, and my heart will be heavy in the process. I am really on the fence on this one. Input would be appreciated.

Monday, June 13, 2011

To Become Healthy

We went out of town for a couple of days due to a death in the family. It really brought things home a bit more in my eyes. I tried not to think about it while we were in attendance, but once the funeral started it was futile. I cried. For the loss of life, love, and friendship. I cried because it makes things all too clear. At some point, either I or the love of my life will cease to exist. One of us will be left to pick up and move on. Others will look to us to see how it will be when their time comes. It made me shake. To think, of leaving my child behind. To leave Charlie to fend off this world without me. That is the circle of life, and it is tragic and beautiful all at once. This person's time was ending, and at the same time, we were introducing a life to the world. Such a double edged sword. 

During the whole process, I watched as Charlie was passed from person to person. My rational side though how much I liked seeing people coo over him. I loved seeing Chad's Mom beaming at the new life we created. I liked knowing I could provide some form of comfort in such a terrible time. Then, there was the crazy irrational part of me. I was JEALOUS of other people. Other's that were getting smiles out of him, holding him, and spending time with him. I was in this constant battle. It must be something programmed in along the way, but I just couldn't stop thinking about it. There were a lot of things I was thinking about.

How fast time has gone by. I am a mother now. A huge milestone has passed by. It's almost like things hit home a bit more at the benchmark of 30, and having a first born. This isn't depression talking, it's reality setting in. I love my life more than I can put into words. I hate the idea of it ever ending. 

With that, I would like to write something in stone so to speak. I have never knowingly ran a mile. I may have while playing soccer, but running a mile seems impossible.

Recently, Chad obtained an injury that made him have to stop his normal workout routine. He must now ease back into running starting with 2 mile walks every other day for 2 weeks. That seems about my speed. So, this is the time. THIS IS MY TIME.

I am making a vow to health.

To be here as long as I can.

To write about this journey.

To make my health a priority.

To run 1 mile. 


While to most that is not a big deal, to me it is. I want this to be the first step of my own milestones. When one mile turns into two. When running becomes enjoyable....if that ever happens. 

Sunday marked day one in our regimen. 

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Bowels Of Hell

Yesterday Chad, Charlie, and I spent 3 hours at the mechanics down the road. We are preparing to take an unexpected trip, and my Mom instilled the value of not getting stranded on a mountain in West Virginia. So, there we sat. 

There was a lady with her 8-9 year old kid in the waiting area as well. We smiled politely at one another and her child continued to play. He was playing a little gameboy thingy, and she was zoned out on her phone. Completely unaware of her kid. He was a good kid, and the only fault I could actually find with him, was her fault. 

I did indeed think that he had crapped his pants. I can't imagine what she is feeding her child. My best guess is cabbage, broccoli, and diarrhea. Mostly diarrhea. Now, I understand kids fart. This was more like the bowels of hell opened up and unleashed a fury only Chad, Charlie, and I now know. The worst part was that he was interested in the baby, so he would come and sit in the chair beside us and play his game. He would shyly look over at me, and then the smell would ooze over from him. He knew he was doing it! 

The first expulsion I felt sorry for him. Kids sometimes have bowel problems, and that would make growing up difficult. This kid didn't have bowel problems. He had SOMETHING DYING inside of him. 

Look here kid, Charlie has been on earth for 11 weeks. Please don't taint his first few months with the most horrific smell I have ever encountered. The worst part is, that I didn't want to shun the kid. I wanted to punch the mom for clearly not caring about her child's behavior, and for feeding him diarrhea. This went on and on. Why are we as people so polite? Instead of getting up, we just sat there and took it. Chad did however, take Charlie's little baby hand and cover his little baby nose with it. We totally laughed at that and I think the kid got the point. 

My husband is both polite and passive aggressive at just the right times. It's better than punching an 8 year old in the face. 

Saturday, June 4, 2011


Capable of breastfeeding.

Charlie will take both a bottle and my breast.

I wish that there was a better place to put that on a resume. It really doesn't seem to fit under hobbies, and it would make for a strange "Current Employer." Current Job Title - Lactation specialist, Boob department.

Breastfeeding is a lot of things, and the first one on my list before I actually attempted it was "creepy." Before Charlie arrived I knew I wanted to breastfeed based on all the studies about breast milk, but I figured I would use a breast pump pretty much from the get go. I couldn't really jive with the idea of a little human sucking on my breast. I think before he arrived it was too attached to the sexual nature of it. In reality, they are human utters. That really brings it home, when you think about the fact that we have created the internet, gone to the moon, and we still do something so basic/natural as produce milk.

I have been involved in only a limited number of conversations that involve the topic of breastfeeding. You don't just get together with people and discuss the pros and cons over cocktails. Those that I had spoken to that had done it, made it seem like they were pretty much the most bad ass person alive, and we just waiting on their gold medal to come in mail.

When I was pregnant it seemed like there was a HUGE push to breastfeed. I get it, try it before you shun it. But it was wiiiiiierd. I knew I would at least try it though. When the time came, it was worse than trying to hold him for the first time. The whole thing felt weird. I called a nurse in to tell me how to do it. You would think the instructions for breastfeeding would be: Insert breast.

When he latched, it all made sense. I cried. Such a helpless little human, so tiny and perfect, coming to me for help. How can you deny that? Until I did.

You want to know what the worst day ever is?

The day you have bleeding nipples.

Or so I thought.

I remember staring at the frozen peas in my freezer thinking about how awesome it would be to just put them on my chest. I pumped for a few days, and let things heal up. I missed breastfeeding. Me. I missed it. When I went to trying again, he didn't want me. THAT was the worst day ever. Then I realized something. I alone provide him with nourishment. The time that we spend in that moment, it so completely pure and simple. It dawned on me that those women weren't bragging. They were trying to give me a secret. The secret to losing the pregnancy weight, post-partum blues, and overall well being. It's not the same as pumping, and if you have the luxury of being able to breastfeed you should.

After weeks of trying, 2 weeks ago he took to me again. I started producing hormones that I didn't while pumping. I felt beautiful again. I felt healthier, I felt better. If I could put breastfeeding hormones in a bottle and sell them, I would be very rich. I still have days where it hurts, and isn't pleasant. I have times where I want to be doing something else. Then, I stop and reset. The world falls away. I am curled up with such a beautiful being, grown by me, sustained by me. He is so pure and innocent, and in those moments nothing else matters. We are one. We bond in that action, I learn about his other needs and wants in the process.

Where I am going with all of this, is that I have been so honest about the process leading up to having a baby. Not knowing how to change a diaper, and just plain freaking out over how to take care of a baby. The fact is, you get through it. Chad and I changed Charlie's first dirty diaper together. Two set of hands. We needed all four hands when we unearthed what lurked beneath.

I've shared my journey through never having ever changed a diaper, to using reusable diapers with my son. My son. That still seems so odd to see and say. I know that a lot of people that read this haven't had kids yet, and they identify with my awkwardness of the process. I just don't want you thinking I'm all braggy braggy about breastfeeding. Truth is, I want everyone to breastfeed. I wish we all could. It's one of the happiest moments of my life right now, and I owe that in part to breastfeeding. Struggling with depression could have really clouded these early moments. I believe that a large part of my super fast recovery was due to breastfeeding.

Now, where's my gold medal?

Friday, June 3, 2011

Salvador Babi

Salvador Babi

How can I go from a post about strap-ons to this? The truth is that no matter how much I try to be someone else now that I have a kid, I'm not. I'm still kooky, impatient, and tell weird stories. What I have recently realized is, that I have NO IDEA how to entertain a 2 month old. My delicious cocktail knowledge, and inappropriate stories aren't doing the trick. Fresh Prince of Bel-Air re-runs fulfill his diversity requirement, but don't seem to catch his interest. He doesn't even laugh when I do the robot.  

The first month and a half were so tough. Breastfeeding was tough. Sleeping was tough. Figuring out the basics was tough. People say, "Don't you have a baby book?" Yes. I do. But when I am not in the middle of caring for Charlie I am having a meltdown or I am passed out. Doesn't really leave me much time to peruse my baby books. 

What I have found the hardest is balance. Finding the time to give the dogs the attention they need to not feel neglected and act out by peeing everywhere and biting people. Finding the time to make meals, so that we can still feel normal. Finding the time to stuff diapers. Finding the time to give Chad the one on one time that we must have for each other. Finding the time to Skype with my mom for an hour every day. Finding the time to unload the NEVER ENDING DISHES. All while letting him sleep on me during the day, because I don't want him to feel like I am abandoning him. I don't interact with him for 7-8 hours at night, so I feel bad to do it all day too.

I've taken to the Internet for ideas on how to play with him. I didn't realize there was such a large amount of time where he wouldn't be grabbing at things or holding things. That's a big misconception. I assumed he could hold a rattle or a pacifier from the get go. 

Figuring out the difference between normal and postpartum has been difficult too. The right amount of worry so to speak. Worrying about things like, SIDS, learning, and development. When is it too much, when is it the right amount? When do you let him cry? When do you hold him? If you take into consideration they say if he's not hungry or dirty, let him cry....that's not much. My kid is massive. He's always hungry or in need of a change. 

I must say, he's perfect to me. I know other people out there may not find him to the perfect, but in my eyes he is. His long eyelashes, his "ma" cry, his gurgles and grunts are just perfect. Today, I will find the strength to let him "cry it out." Today, I won't go rushing in to save him.

Today, I did.

It was terrible.

We are starting the transition to move him to his own room. The idea saddens and terrifies me. Yea, we have a video monitor, but I won't be RIGHT THERE.

For now, it's time to feed him, and sing him his new favorite song. The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

It's pretty awesome to be me.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Dildo Necklace

With all this fun we've had at my Mom's expense, I feel it's only right that I tell an embarrassing story about me...Welllll let's be honest. I don't really embarrass easily.

When I was 18 I was set to go to Ohio State. Then, I decided that getting wasted at my Mom's friends house on a Tuesday night was a way better option. I ended up playing pool topless and then got behind the wheel. I am not proud of that. Somehow, I made it home. Then, I had to "check in" with my Mom. I had to go into her bedroom and say I was home. I actually remember telling her I was fine, and just really tired. The fury of a wrath was unleashed when she realized what was happening. I ended up throwing up, and waking up in a pool of my own urine that night.

She called over to the house I was at. The son didn't answer the first 10 or so times she called. He then did answer and told my Mom that I had barged into his house, and helped myself to their liquor cabinet, by myself. Yea, I break into people's houses that look like they have a liquor cabinet, and just start makin' cocktails.

Due to my drunken escapades, my Mom decided that maybe I wasn't ready to go to Ohio State. There would be WAY too many places for me to break into and drink copious amounts of liquor there too. What she did I totally understood. It makes sense now. The down side was that I then had to go to a local branch of a state school. It was like all the area high schools got all their rejects together and put them at this branch. (the only reason I say this is because I was in the art department with a lot of theater people) The art department at the branch was terrible. I was one of the "standout" students. It's like being 18 and a standout at Kindergarten.

I did make a lot of friends though. Some better than others. When I was 18 I was obsessed with having a penis. The product of a mother that said the word "penis" once a day for shock value I suppose. I would talk about wanting one all the time. Christmas time rolls around and a bunch of my class mates chipped in and bought me a huge strap on dildo. Ahhhhhmazing. I wore it like a necklace out to lunch at Olive Garden.

I wore it home from school, and was sitting on the couch in the family room with my Mom. I felt that her seeing this object might be a bit much for her old eyes, so before she came into the room I stuffed it in our big floppy leather couch.

Growing up we had a really really nice lady come to our house once a week to clean. She was what I believe to be a born again Christian. (should I capitalize "born again"?) She was very shy, and sweet, and devout. A few weeks later, my mother comes into my room holding the dildo. Apparently, she had the cleaning lady cleaning out the couches that week... she brought the dildo to my mother crying. That was a lot harder to explain away than you might think.

I love my Mom. She makes me laugh. She lets me be who I am. Strap on dildo necklaces and all.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Velvety Smooth

When we first arrived to the recovery room, I needed to change my bandages. They give you mesh shorts to use. I got into the bathroom to find that the pair they had in there had HAIR already in them. Thank you, but no thank you. Then, I look at the toilet to find dribbles of blood on it. I was so exhausted but I made a complaint. They rolled their eyes. When we were notified that we were getting roommates I notified the staff that the bathroom should be cleaned. THEY LAUGHED AT ME. Apparently the bathrooms at Womack Army Medical in the recovering rooms are NEVER cleaned. Good thing I didn't have any gaping wounds or anything. When they told us they were keeping us for another day, I seriously thought I was going to FREAK OUT. So, when you have a baby bring clorox wipes because they clearly don't care about disease.

I left the decision of circumcision up to Chad. I don't have that apparatus so, it didn't make sense for me to be the one to make the call. Don't get me wrong, I did weigh in with my opinion on the matter. They wait a day or two before they actually do the procedure. By that point the room we were staying in had another couple in it. They arrived in the wee hours of the morning, and left the lights on when they arrived. They put all their curtains all the way around their bed, and I couldn't tell you what either one of those douche bags look like. What I do know is that she kept asking for more percoset, and having her weenie of a husband wake up to deal with the baby EVERY TIME. They also felt that waiting until the poor thing was hysterical was a better option that listening for hunger cues.

So there was the "uber privacy better than us couple" and us in one room. We had tons of visitors coming and going throughout the first day that the douche couple was in there. The most memorable visit of the day goes to....Our friends Jason and Annette aaaand my Mom. Jason and Annette were in visiting, and then my Mom arrived. The way the room was set up there were 2 chairs on either side. Jason and Annette were sitting in the two on our side. Jason got up for my Mom, and my Mom instead took the chair located on private douche side. We had to convice her that lurking on the other side of the room wasn't appropriate.

We bring up circumcision with Jason and Annette to have them weigh in with their opinions. At which point, my Mom pipes up. Mind you there are six people in the room, 2 of which we don't know. We discuss how people in Europe don't have the procedure done. She says, that she has talked to someone in the family about it and starts to talk from their point of view. She then rubs her thumb on her first finger in a circle and says, "It's just so velvety smooth. I would miss his foreskin. It's like a soft feather. You just want to touch it all day."


Jason and Annette both have a look on their face that says, "I can't believe how awesome this is right now."

We keep the convo rolling, and discuss the medical reasoning behind it and so forth. The conversation ends with......."the little english boy's foreskin floats in the tub."

There you have it, velvety smooth, and floats in the tub.

I kinda want one.