Monthly Archives: September 2013

Dilemma

So, I have this dilemma.

I desperately need some sleep. And not just a couple of hours. Like, I need sleeeeeeeep, you guys. I need to not wake up to an alarm a baby demanding something. I need to have one morning where I can wake up and have a cup of coffee and watch Today without having to also sing the ABC song on repeat while changing a diaper and trying to simultaneously find out what’s trending on Twitter. Okay, the Twitter thing is not important and a lot of the shit I see on Today is fluff and I don’t mind not being able to hear it over myself singing the ABC song. And I know, you guys, ALL parents want these moments. I KNOW, okay? I am not trying to play martyr and swear that I need it more because two kids under the age of two and OH MY GOD, the torture, or anything. I love being a stay-at-home-mom. Really. I do.

But I am not my best self. I am tired and cranky and potentially about to have a breakdown if I have to make my 16-month-old three different lunches again in order to find something she will put INTO HER MOUTH instead of ONTO THE FLOOR. Because holding a cranky 3-month-old while doing so is NO JOKE. So…I need a break.

And, miraculously, my mom and sister have generously offered me one. My mom and step-dad are taking a trip to visit my sister this upcoming weekend and they have offered to take BOTH of the kids with them. Leaving me alone. (I mean, basically, since MB works ALL THE TIME.) Blissfully ALONE. My dilemma is that I am TERRIFIED to let them go. I have never been away from Baby O for more than a few hours and L is such a monster sometimes that I would feel guilty about knowingly letting someone else take her for several days. Because I know what kind of a sleeper she is. I also know what that does to her mood. And I know that sometimes it makes ME crazy and I MADE her. So I can only imagine how other people will react to it.

On the one hand, I feel like it would be good for me. I mean, the kids would come back and I would have missed them terribly but have had time to get all rejuvenated and stuff. I would be like a new mommy. And I would appreciate that. And I am sure that they would too! Robot Mommy can’t be too much fun.

But, on the other hand, three days is a long time! I don’t know what I would do with myself without them. (I mean, besides cleaning, reading, sleeping, having adult conversations, going out to dinner, peeing alone, showering…probably several times per day just to get my fill, eating hot food while sitting, not sweeping the floor 37 times before noon, I could go on.)  I feel a little lost thinking about how empty the house will be without them here. How my clothes won’t smell like spit-up and how the lack of thin layer of Cheerios on the floor will make me feel. My tiny BFFs will be GONE. That’s just sad.

Also, and MOSTLY, what if something happens and I am not there?! OH. EM. GEE. You guys. Seriously. WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS?

What do I DO, you guys? Do I let them take my spawn for several days and get this much needed break? Or do I keep the reigns in place and just try and maintain!?

 

An Open Letter to My Kids: A Mommy’s Plea

Dear Kiddos,

I want to preface this letter by telling you how much I adore both of you. You are the center of my universe and your smiles are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. You make every day fun and interesting and pretty damn hilarious and, for that, I am so grateful.

But…

You are being total assholes.

You have been taking turns driving Mommy batshit insane for days on end and you seem to have no remorse. You wait until the other is content (for the 3.5 minutes that this will last) and then you scream your bloody head off and create havoc until I calm you down. And then the other one of you starts. You do this for hours. And hours. AND HOURS. Until Mommy is almost bald and considering padding the whole house, not only for easier childproofing but for protection for herself for when she completely loses it. Padded rooms are supposed to be safer for crazy people, I hear.

Mommy is not a terribly patient person to begin with. She likes quiet and alone time and reading books. She doesn’t get any of that anymore and has dealt with it rather well considering that one of you is a little tornado who NEVER. SITS. DOWN. and the other is a tiny, brand new nugget who needs constant attention in order to become another tiny tornado down the road. Mommy is tired and cranky and spends the majority of her time dreaming of enough time to take a hot, glorious shower. One where she might even SHAVE HER LEGS.

There is not enough wine in the state of Florida for Mommy this week, you guys. You have to tone down the crazy-pants. Or Mommy’s head will explode.

Your dad is a marvelous man and is a wonderful father, but has been working many, many hours per week to make sure that Mommy can stay home and keep you alive and not have to leave you with strangers or people who can’t handle the crazy. This leaves Mommy alone with you both for 16 hours per day. 16 hours is a really long time. And being that one of you (probably the one who shouldn’t be yet, but is, obviously, wise beyond his months) is sleeping 9 hours per night and the other (who will remain nameless, LILAH.) refuses to sleep in her crib for more than five straight hours at night without pitching the world’s largest fit until being invited to sleep in Mommy and Daddy’s room where she will torment us with feet of steel (seriously, how are those little kicks NOT LITTLE KICKS?) to the kidneys for hours and then resort to head butting and sitting on our faces, Mommy is EXHAUSTED.

Mommy wants to finish ONE CUP of coffee while it is still hot. Mommy wants to eat a meal while sitting down. Mommy wants to shave her effing legs. Or pee without an audience. Just once. Maybe twice per day. Mommy wants to put on mascara and not read a book that does not involve red fish and blue fish or cats in hats and the like. Mommy needs David Sedaris, you guys. Can I read “Naked” to you? Because I’ve gotten to page 14 and it has been three weeks.

Again, I love you guys. It is the kind of patient, unyielding love that I never expected to feel. But seriously, you guys, throw Mommy a bone here and GO THE EFF TO SLEEP. Like, at the same time, and for a couple of hours. Consecutively. My legs are a forest.

Thanks.

 

Love,

Mommy

 

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Fixed

So, some of you might remember the post where I talked about deciding on the Essure procedure as my form of permanent sterilization. And how it sort of seemed like I was having to mourn the use of my lady parts.

Well, internet, last Friday? I did it. I don’t have a lot to say about the actual procedure because, just as I was told and had read, there really wasn’t much to it. The worst part was the two nurses and doctor attempting to get the pain medication into my body. Because if I didn’t know better, I would think I was completely vein-less. But, once the medications were in and I was sufficiently HIGH, the procedure lasted all of five minutes. And then a team of professionals (read: family members who didn’t want me to fall asleep while bathing children) stepped in for the rest of the day and watched the kids so I could sleep it all off. But seriously, you guys, five minutes. The end.

I mentioned in the previous post that being sterilized was a little bittersweet. And not because I want any more kids. Because oh HELLS NO. But because it sort of seemed, when I thought about it, that part of my femininity was being stripped away with this procedure. Now, I know, I know, that’s not the case. But it sort of feels like it.

When MB got home from work that night, I beamed at him, “I’m FIXED!” and he said, “How do you feel about that?” And I told him that it is sort of sad. Sort of like a goodbye to fertility. Which is such a strange feeling. To know that I won’t ever be able to conceive again, while it is a total RELIEF, is pretty serious business. Because it is FOREVER. And that’s…you know…pretty damn permanent. So I spent a little while thinking about it. And coming to terms with it. And I know I made the right decision here. Because I have these two beautiful kids. One of each. And they are my everything. And I really couldn’t ask for anything more. And if I accidently GOT anything more, I might really go batshit crazy if I haven’t already.  I don’t need any more crazy, you guys. We’re all full up on crazy over here.

So…there ya have it. I went and did it. I’m fixed!

Black Market Kidneys: A Post About Whining

Okay, internet, let’s talk about whining.

I hate whining. I hate it more than I hate tomatoes. And I REALLY hate tomatoes. And, while I know that kids have to LEARN to use their words (or learn their words before they can USE them), I am not a fan of this stage that Baby L is going through.

Seriously, you guys. I have seriously considered running away from home.

She whines when I hold Baby O because, OHMYGOD, NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION TO ME! And she whines when she drops something. You know because OHMYGOD, HOWEVER WILL I RETRIEVE IT!? DAMN GRAVITY! And she whines when she is tired. Because OHMYGOD, SLEEPING IS AWFUL BUT I CAN BARELY KEEP MY EYES OPEN! And she whines when she is hungry. Or someone leaves the room (which is not limited to myself or her father, by the way.) Or when something is on TV that she does not approve of (which includes anything that does not involve a tall, bumpy red guy). Or when I won’t let her stick things in the toilet. Or when the toilet lid is closed, therefore preventing her from putting items in said toilet. She whines about EVERYTHING. And, while she does this for small portions of the day and for the rest of the day is cute and cuddly and so effing hilarious, I am sort of tempted to whine back. Like, “I don’t WAAAAAAANNA make you lunch!” or “I don’t WAAAAAAANNA give you a bath!” but I feel that somehow this would be lost on her. She’d probably think it was the funniest thing I have ever done. Much like the other day when I accidentally inhaled my coffee instead of drinking it (because it is just as essential as air and I got confused) and then choked and almost died while she laughed hysterically because her mommy is hilarious when she is choking to death.

Baby L is a “troubled sleeper”. And by “troubled sleeper”, I mean a tiny monster who does not need to sleep but survives off of the sleep deprivation of her parents. Sometimes I believe she must be overtired. And I can’t imagine how she wouldn’t be. I mean, lately (and I blame molars) she has been taking one nap a day, and this nap lasts less than two hours and then she is a little ball of crazy energy for the rest of the day. And then she fights me at bed time. (Why do kids hate sleeping, you guys? I love sleeping. I love sleeping so much that I am inching closer to selling a kidney on the black market for one blissful day with no kids and nothing but slumber. Craigslist ad would read: Will exchange kidney for 24 hours of babysitting for tiny cyclone and three-month-old meatloaf. Blood type – O positive. Will exchange both kidneys for one week. Dialysis is no joke but I won’t need kidneys if I die of exhaustion, anyway.)

The sleeping thing is all normal. But the whining? That’s new. I am not really sure what to do about it. At about 13 months, she started throwing little temper tantrums (not like, hurling herself onto the ground and flailing like a maniac) but I could tell that she was testing me to see if it was easier for her to get what she wanted if she acted like a little lunatic. Those passed, for the most part, fairly quickly. But now, she is just living up to her title “Princess Cranky Pants” and making me wonder how old she has to be before I can send her to boarding school. In Finland.

So, my question to you, internet? Have you had this problem? Does it go away or have you had to sell your kidneys on Craigslist? How did you deal with it?

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An Open Letter to Baby O: Three Months

Dearest Oliver,

Today, you are three whole months old! And you are alive! And aside from the cradle cap that will not die, you are doing wonderfully! You smile and coo and sleep through the night most of the time and you are just a little nugget of happy!

At your last checkup, about a month ago, you were already a whopping 12 pounds, 5 ounces and were 20.5 inches long. Meaning that you are growing SUPER fast and getting into that chunky baby phase where people are compelled to touch your cheeks. Constantly. I am not immune. I pinch your little cheeks and kiss your little toes and sing you ridiculous songs. Songs that sometimes involve water buffalo. And then I ask myself, “Will you ever sing normal songs again, Crazy Lady?” to which I answer, “Who cares?” Because you are growing up so fast and I know you will never enjoy water buffalo songs as much as you do right now.

I have to tell you, I am definitely exhausted. I chase your sister while giving you your bottles because if I don’t chase her, she is typically littering the contents of my underwear drawer all over the house or hiding my Tupperware. But you remain calm. You look up at me with those big eyes (we are not sure yet what color they will be, but I imagine, like everything else, you will have your father’s hazel beauties), confused but peaceful as I try to intercept bras before they end up in the toilet. You don’t often seem phased at all by the gleeful screeching of Lilah as she watches “Yo Gabba Gabba” in the afternoons.

Lilah, who initially didn’t have a clue what to think about you, the little meatloaf that suddenly appeared in place of mommy’s giant belly, is totally enamored with you. First thing in the morning, she runs to where you are sleeping (which could either be next to our bed in the sleeper or in the swing, depending on what kind of night we had) and says, in the sweetest, most adorable voice I have ever heard, “Hiiiiiiiiii, Ollie!” (Which, by the way, is the only full sentence, if you can call it that, that she knows so far.) Judging from the giant smile on your face when this happens, I am optimistic that you two will be the best of friends. And not so long from now!

You hold your head up for long stretches of time. So often that it amazes everyone who sees it. It is astonishing to me that, a year from now, you too will be learning to walk and exploring and eating toilet paper. I have to remind myself how quickly this all passes so that I don’t miss a minute of your babyhood. I try and remember, at four in the morning, that you are my last baby. And you won’t be a baby for long. It goes too fast.

Your dad has been working 15 hours per day, six days per week since you were about two months old. It has definitely taken a toll on us because you kids don’t get to see him every day like you used to. But when you do see him, the love that I see between you brings tears to my eyes. Our family is complete. And it is so because of you, my little man.

I had forgotten how beautiful it is when your baby smiles at you, though. Not because your sister doesn’t smile at me, but that she is no longer a baby. And not because it has been a long time, because she is just shy of 16 months old now. But because there is no comparison to it. In. The. World. When you smile at me, it is different than the way that you smile at your Grandmas or your sister or even your dad. Because I can tell it is just for me. You know me. And you already love me. And it melts my heart. Every. Single. Time.

I love you too, little man. To the moon and back.

Love,

Mom

(Right now, I have to tell you, you are sort of pissing me off, however, because you refuse to nap. Even though your ridiculously loud sister is quietly napping in her room and there is virtually ZERO noise in the house. Mommy needs 15 minutes to write you a letter, buddy.)