Category Archives: Parenthood

Waiting for the Wine

So, I don’t know if I told you, internet, but I went ahead and took your advice and we are having a baby shower for Baby O after all. Okay, not really a shower. More like a sprinkle. Or, like, a small get together at our new place wherein people will eat sandwiches and drink beers (they will, obviously have to bring their own beers though, because lets face it, if I’m not drinking, I’m not paying. But you go right on ahead, have yourself a beer or 7.) I didn’t register or anything all “baby shower formal”, we just invited some people over. And we hope that they will bring diapers or gift cards. Or lots of wine for my post-delivery celebration. (Because you know that is really where MY head is. Because you guys have met me…you know I’m just waiting for the wine.) So, that will take place this Saturday.

And I can’t believe I am doing this again.

I feel like we JUST got done having Baby L’s baby shower. (Probably because it was exactly thirteen months ago.) And now, here we are, having another one. And Baby L will be scooting around all OUTSIDE of my body and stuff and we will be surrounded by dinosaur party favors and baby boy onesies. And OH. MY. GOD. In less then three months I am going to have another meatloaf.

I have so many questions about raising two tiny nuggets so close together. Like, will I ever sleep again? Is it worse having TWO tiny ones than one? Will I stop being such a crazy, anal-retentive freak about things being disinfected? Will I stop being so intensely worried about Baby L hurting herself? (I swear to Cheesus, I would have padded this whole house already if I weren’t afraid that MB would then promptly have me committed because he is of this mindset that kids sometimes hurt themselves. WHAT?! MY baby?! No.)  Will I ever get a pedicure or go out to dinner with my husband again? I mean, these things are already issues for us! (Especially my lack of pedicures. I mean, my toes are scary, you guys. And, OBVIOUSLY MB is totally concerned about the state of my toes, above all else.)

As you may be able to tell, the worry is finally starting to kick in a little. I mean, I am still mostly calm. Mostly. I only start really freaking out, like, in the middle of the night when I am awoken because I have to pee for the 750th time during the night and then I start realizing that I have to pee because there is a WHOLE NEW BABY residing in my PELVIS and soon I am going to have to EXPEL him and then he will be on the OUTSIDE and I will have TWO BABIES and then I will go completely INSANE because MB will be at work and OH MY GOD, I thought one was hard, how the hell am I going to have TWO?!

Yeah, I told you guys before, my head is a totally fun place to live. Especially at two in the morning.

I have to keep reminding myself that I am not the first person in the world to ever have two babies so close together. And that people have TWINS every day. And holy SHIT, how do people have twins? And is that worse? And what about triplets? And Octomom? (Not that I consider her a real person. She exists in my mind as some sort of cartoon character or something. It might be her lips.) What the hell do these people do? How do they not accidentally put the roast in the bassinet and the baby in the crock pot? How?! I need to KNOW, internet!

(Deep breath…)

Okay, this was obviously supposed to be a post about how we are having a Baby Sprinkle, not a literary panic attack. Sorry about that, you guys. You know how it is. Being knocked up makes you a little nuts.

Octomom

Octomom: Or maybe THIS is why I can’t take her seriously?

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Land of the Pressed and Devil Tots

English: These are what tater tots look like.

Devil Tots: Delicious, but potentially deadly.

Many of you might have seen that I was (finally) Freshly Pressed last Saturday! I have to say, I was pretty sure that the Land of the Pressed was somewhere far, far away and somewhere that I would likely never be invited to, but then, there it was in my email! “Congratulations!” And then I peed my pants. (I don’t remember if I ACTUALLY peed my pants, but I am currently 30 weeks pregnant and never really redeveloped any pelvic floor muscles after Baby L so it is safe to assume that I probably did.) Anyway, it was super exciting and WOW! What a ride.

I want to first thank all of the newbies who stopped by and/or started following! I have to apologize in advance for my foul language, probable impropriety, and, last but not least, my tendency to talk about my bodily functions with way too much detail (please see pelvic floor muscle comment above). Chances are, you may have already witnessed some of this, if you looked around a bit, and maybe aren’t offended or scared off, but if this is the first you’ve heard of it, don’t say I didn’t warn you guys. I’m most likely gonna tell y’all ALL about the state of my vagina on more than one occasion.

Moving on…

So, to celebrate/commemorate my invitation into The Land of the Pressed, I got the stomach bug from hell and dropped my iPhone into the toilet while simultaneously vomiting. Because, you know, if you’re gonna do something, you gotta really DO it. I’m not going to get into all the nasty I endured during this time (you’re welcome), but I will tell you that OH. MY. GOD, internet, I have never been so sick in my entire life. I may or may not have vomited into Baby L’s toy drum (a bath toy) because I have (evidently) lost my ability to vomit WITHOUT SIMULTANEOUSLY PEEING. (See pelvic floor comment above. Again, don’t say I didn’t warn you.) Because I have had four (FOUR!) of these “stomach bugs” since I became pregnant with Baby O, I am starting to suspect that this is his way of telling me that he hates tater tots. I know, that sounds weird. But literally, EVERY time I have gotten violently ill like this in the last several months, tater tots were involved. They will be called “Devil Tots” from here on out. So, I have, between trying to be a mom and a pregnant lady and trying to recover from this horrible illness (“Devil Tot Syndrome”), I have been out of commission. I haven’t responded to all of your lovely comments or had time to give them all of the attention that they deserve. So, I’m sorry. And I’m on it.

Bear with me, newbies, and don’t think I don’t appreciate you. I’ve just been busy trying not to pee on myself.

 

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An Open Letter to Baby L at 9 Months (Okay, 10. Sue Me.)

Dear Lilah,

You are WAY past nine months old now. In fact, you are ten months old, as of yesterday. But, as you know, your mother is nothing if she isn’t a total slacker. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy writing letters to you. Really. It is that between you insisting on trying to pound away at my laptop while I am doing so, and the miniscule amount of time I have without you attached to me, I am unable to do a whole lot of anything these days.

You are getting so big. I was at one of my check-up appointments the other day and there was a woman there with a baby who she “claimed” was 8 weeks old and weighed 11 pounds and I could barely remember you being that tiny ( say “claimed” because I swear to Cheesus, that baby was so small. SO SMALL). You are so full of personality now and you really are a little person and not at all like that little meatloaf that you were when we brought you home from the hospital. It is so strange to think you have changed so much. And also to think that, in just a few months, we will have another meatloaf. And this time it will have a tiny penis. Weird. Anyway, you shouldn’t concern yourself with such things. You just concentrate on being super cute and deliberately spitting on everything in a 20 foot radius of you.

You are not a crawler. And not because you can’t, mind you, but because having to crawl to get somewhere really pisses you off. I wonder if I am the only mom out there scratching her head on this one. I have seen you do it and I know that you are capable, but yet, for some reason, you would rather get in baby plank pose, scoot yourself about a foot backwards and then get super angry and start to screech. I am not as worried that you are behind in development as that you are going to be lazy until your brother is born and then take giant leaps when I don’t have the time or the energy to pad the entire house for you to fall all over.

You say things like “mama” and “dada” but I am pretty sure you don’t yet know that you are saying our respective names. Your dad, however, insists that you say “duck” when it is bath time. (You do have a rubber duckie or two that we have in there with you when Daddy bathes you, but I am not sure that I buy that you are yet calling them ducks. Not because I think you are a dummy, but because I haven’t heard this and your dad has a hearing problem. Meaning he hears what he wants to. And this applies to everyone, not just you.)

You love eating. You are indiscriminate completely about food unless I try to give you peas. Peas and carrots? “Sure, Mom! Bring it!” Peas by themselves? “No way, Mom, get that shit out of my face.” You should know that peas are delicious and you should eat them. Don’t listen to your dad when he talks about how gross they are. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You especially love strawberries, pears, and green grapes. All three of my favorite fruits. And we have them just about every day for a snack together and it is really amusing for me to watch you master your dexterity and pick up tiny pieces of slimy stuff. Half of the time, most of it ends up in your lap, but I enjoy watching you stuff your face on the off-chance that you make it in there. (You are totally getting good at it, though. At first, I doubted that you had gotten ANY fruit into your mouth, now I only find a couple of slivers in your lap and on the floor…Good work, my love.)

You are still a really weird sleeper. We attempted to do this thing called “sleep training” wherein your father and I would train you about when and how to sleep on your own. What ended up happening was that you ended up training me and your father on how to sleep with you wrapped around our faces. We are about to start this process again because it is really important to me to have you in your own bed/room before your brother gets here and keeps me up all night.  In fairness (to me), it would have been pointless to go full force with sleep training if we were just going to uproot you, which we just did when we moved to this new house. So…yeah. I don’t suck as much as it might seem.

You are also working on getting tooth number 7. And let me tell you, Lilah, teething is a total bitch and you OWE me for this. Like, when you turn 18, you are going to need to buy me a kitten for each tooth that you have. Okay, that’s not a good idea. But I will think of something for you to do. Because this shit is DUMB. (And also makes your sleeping WORSE. Yes. That is possible, it would appear.)

So, again, I am sorry that I was a slack ass during your ninth month, but we had a lot going on. I mean, be for real, we had to move so that we had room for your brother and so that you didn’t catch disobedience and general badness from your cousin. I’m just saying. By the time you read this, you will know exactly what I mean. No need to get too involved.  Either way, your father and I are very proud of you. You crack us up every day and you are so effing cute with your growing front teeth and your chubby, delicious cheeks. We can’t get enough of you. You are the love of my life. Duh.

Love always,

Mom

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On Not Getting Hit with Golf Clubs. And Some Other Shit.

Dancing bears

Dancing bears (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Baby L has been a pretty bad blogger lately. It might have something to do with the fact that she has been busy trying to stand on her own and furiously trying to crawl. (She can crawl, but usually does more backwards crawling and when trying to go forward, either flops over onto her side or just lets her arms give out and starts to fuss about it. What a baby, I know…sheesh.) She’s really letting the blogosphere down. I tried to tell her that people are going to stop reading and that everyone is getting really pissed that she is so selfishly ignoring this blog. She said she’s sorry, you guys. Don’t give up on her. After all, she is just a baby.

Oh, you guys were under the impression that I was going to blog…Right. About that…Well, a lot has happened in the past few weeks. For starters, (and I know I will forget something, because I TOTALLY have pregnancy brain and am having trouble remembering pretty much everything. Especially if I have to remember it for more than 30 seconds) MB, Baby L and I moved into a new place. Before you get all excited for us and our new status as homeowners, just don’t get excited. Because we aren’t. And I am okay with it. We are renting a three bedroom house with a giant yard for a fraction of what I would have expected to pay for a place this size. Is it on the side of town that I was hoping for? No. Is the rent going to be too much for our single-income family? Shockingly? NO! Go, Team Oopsie!

Is this my dream house? No. But there are a few things that I absolutely LOVE about it. Like, for instance, the yard is seriously gigantic. This makes me super happy because pretty soon it will be summertime. And Baby L will be frolicking about in cutesy little sundresses and I will be prancing with my giant preggo-beast belly to Grateful Dead songs. Okay, probably this won’t happen. I mean, who wants to prance with a preggo-beast belly? And I feel like Grateful Dead prancing should only happen after a lot of cocktails or hallucinogens. Neither of which I am really allowed to partake in currently. (I mean, not that I would take any hallucinogens anyway. At least, not anymore. Don’t judge me. I was a teenager once, OKAY? I digress…there probably won’t be prancing.)

The house is pretty old, so it has that awesome built-in shelving in it. I have always loved that, because I hate putting up shelves. So I just don’t. And then I wind up with a bunch of framed pictures and barnyard animal figurines all over everything. (Okay, not so much the figurines, but I wanted to make sure you got the visual of a ridiculous and tacky clutter. Mission accomplished? I think so.)

Also, and this might be a pro AND a con for us: NO CARPET. Only hard wood! OH. MY. SWEET. BABY. JESUS. I love hard wood floors. I mean, do I really have to say anything else about it? I don’t think so.

One of the best things, though, just kind of fell into my lap. When we were looking at this house, the landlord was having a broker show it. And the broker, well, lets just say he was sort of flighty and weird and I didn’t like him. And he stood us up a couple of times before we actually got to see the place. And then, once we finally saw it and MB had decided that, not only was the price right, but that he wanted to go ahead and get it ASAP, the dude couldn’t locate our former landlord and couldn’t get a reference. When I offered to speak with the potential landlord, she mentioned that her father (who has dementia) is living alone in a house right next door and that she is not only looking for a tenant, but also someone to spend a couple of hours per week with him to cook meals and give him medications. Naturally, I mentioned that I am not currently working and that I used to work with dementia patients at a nursing home. This won her over, apparently, and we got the house the next day. And then, a week later, I had a job. Not a substantial one, but one that will help out with our bills and one that will provide me with a little purpose. You know, of the outside of the house variety. SCORE!

So, now I am employed. And, call me crazy, but I really like working with dementia patients. He tends to cuss a lot at me when I put in his eyedrops but I was warned about this. And cussing, you guys, I can totally handle. I mean, fuck, I am a sailor-mouthed mommy blogger. As long as he doesn’t bite me or hit me with a golf club, I can handle him.

So, we are no longer living with a disobedient five-year-old. And we have hard wood floors. And a huge yard. And I cook eggs and bacon for a dementia patient and try to avoid getting hit with golfclubs for several hours per week. So, that’s the news.

I don’t think that I have to tell you that I want a GIANT FUCKING BEER. Or that I still hate being pregnant and can’t wait until this shit is over. And I probably don’t need to inform you of the copious amount of ice cream I have ingested over the last month. Or that my belly is officially giant and I want to hide from the world until this kid makes his grand entrance. Because, you guys can probably guess how that is all going over. I mean, I just did this. You guys might remember all the fun that was had.

I will be posting my open letter to Baby L (9 months, totally late. Shut up.) very shortly. I just haven’t had a lot of time to write about her being 9 months old because I have been busy dealing with a 9-month-old. But I have a little more free time now that we are out of our previous living situation and now that I am not currently cleaning up after 4 adults all the time. You know…because that shit sucked the blogging right out of me.

I shall return. And sooner than you may expect.

 

Peace OUT!

 

Solution? Or Bigger Dilemma?

If you’re wondering where Baby L and I have been hiding out, we found a place to rent and have been busy moving! I have to say, I don’t love moving. I don’t love packing. Or unpacking. And not knowing where my shit is. But I AM a fan of sleeping in my own house. Without being awoken by a screeching five-year old who doesn’t want to wear a jacket to kindergarten. So all this disarray? Totally worth it, you guys.

Unfortunately, we currently (but hopefully very temporarily) are without a washer and dryer, a microwave, and a fridge. Yes. A fucking fridge. It is broken and I am hungry 137% of the time because I am 6 months pregnant. So that is pretty awesome. I mean totally NOT awesome.

But, again, no screeching five-year-old.

I can dig it.

Tonight will be our second night in the new house and it will officially be the first night ever that Baby L will not be sleeping in the same room with me. With the exception of our wedding night. And let me tell you, ladies and gents, I am freaking.theFuck.OUT. I know I have bitched a bit about sleeping with my kid. But you know what Internet? Whatever! I am going to miss snuggling with my baby furnace. What about my husband, you ask? What about snuggling with that guy? Eh. He’s a good smuggler and all that…but he’s not my baby!!

I don’t really know if I can do this, you guys. Seriously.

Obligatory Valentines Day Post

Cake on Valentine's Day

Cake on Valentine’s Day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve never really understood the big deal about Valentine’s Day. I mean, I get all the love stuff. And I think all that stuff is really great. I do. But I think it is more important to be loving every day. Not just buy candy and flowers once a year and go out to dinner. I mean, come on.

MB and I have never really had a chance to have a proper V Day. The first year we were together, I had gotten my “friend” an interview at the place where I worked and she was coming in from out of town, so, naturally, she showed up on Valentines Night and was supremely obnoxious for the entirety of the night/her visit. (That’s sort of the norm for her…which explains why we aren’t friends anymore. Oh, that and that she called me her “best friend” for 10 years and hasn’t spoken to me since I lost my job. At the place that she now works. BECAUSE OF ME.) Last year was our second V Day together. And I was pregnant. And bitter. And probably vomiting all over the apartment. And, to be honest, I am pretty sure we sat on the couch and watched some idiotic reality show on TV or something. He probably got me flowers. There may have been ice cream.

This year, I wanted to put on a pretty dress and, despite my growing bump, attempt to feel attractive. I wanted to take off the yoga pants, put on some mascara,  slip into some fancy undies and have an adult dinner with adult conversation with my husband. Because it feels sometimes like we don’t do enough of any of that. And what better day that Valentines Day? Right?

Then we started getting on this “renting a house” thing. Which was due, mostly in part, to the fact that I was, on a daily basis, begging him to take this seriously and allow this nesting urge to rage and find us a place to live that does not come fully stocked with a five-year-old. And he did it. And now, a week before we move in, I am spending money left and right for deposits and rent and odds and ends that we will need to accomodate us and Baby L and then finally Baby O. And I looked him straight in the eye three days ago, after having arranged for a sitter for Baby L and planning to take my husband out to dinner, and told him to just forget it. That we just didn’t have the time. Or the money. And I’m out of mascara anyway. And part of my heart broke. Because I DO miss the times when going to dinner wasn’t such an ordeal. And when I wasn’t shelling out SO MUCH MONEY just to live somewhere peaceful. I DO miss wearing dresses and mascara. And I DO want to celebrate this ridiculous holiday. I DO.

But I’m still wearing yoga pants. And I am totally making Sloppy Joes for dinner. Because I haven’t had them in years. And because I need to eat something that makes me feel happy.

I woke up this morning, though, to beautiful flowers, my favorite cashew turtles and a pretty hilarious card telling me that he loved me more and that I was a smokin’ hot wife. So, it isn’t all bad. And I love him so much, that I guess I don’t care about having to wear yoga pants. Maybe I will just wear the fancy new ones I just bought. Or maybe I’ll just jazz them up with some secret fancy panties underneath. Either way, I have a date with my wonderful man, my beautiful little lady, a box of turtles and some Sloppy Joes.

Happy Valentines Day, internet. I hope you stuff your faces with love and chocolate today.

I’m Not Homicidal, You Guys!

Image representing Woot as depicted in CrunchBase

Image via CrunchBase

I know I have been a little distant. It’s not you, it’s me, internet. There has been a return of the snot over here in the Oopsie household. And it afflicted my spawn and then myself. Making things very messy and unbearable. But things are looking up. Both in the snot department and otherwise.

Here’s an update! Hooray!

On Sleep Training:
Okay, so do you guys remember when I was going insane because my kid wouldn’t sleep? And remember when I said that I desperately wanted to get her sleep trained so that I could sleep alone in my bed with my husband? And remember when I was concerned because I am knocked up and expanding (although, not as rapidly as expected) and soon won’t have ROOM to share a bed with my 8 month old? You do? Oh.

Let me first say that I have gotten my kid MUCH better at going to sleep in her crib at night. And she even naps. Most of the time, IN THE CRIB also…But then let me tell you that, over the course of the last (almost) two months of snuggling with my little nugget every night, I have kind of come to enjoy it. In fact, I actually miss her little baby face-slaps when she isn’t lying beside me. Needless to say, sleep training has worked. But it hasn’t worked all the way. On me, at least. I am pretty sure that if I weren’t so sappy and missing her, she would be sleeping alone all night, every night. But I let her go in the crib until about 3-4 in the morning and then I can’t take it anymore and I need a cuddle. It might be the hormones. Or because, and I hate to admit this, with the new baby coming soon, I am sad that I will no longer to devote all of my attention to my baby girl. But, we all seem to be sleeping better now. And Baby L and I wake every morning, warm and toasty and smiling. And that makes my whole day. (You know, unless she is teething…which she is…again…)

On The Living Situation:
We found a house to rent! This is amazing news. And not just because I am steadily nearing the point of homicide, but because, even though we were looking for a two-bedroom for now, to save on expenses, this house is less expensive than I would have expected AND it has three bedrooms and a GIGANTIC back yard. Woot!

And yes, I know I was just talking about BUYING a house. And believe me, MB and I are ON IT. We just can’t do everything as quickly as we need to with such a short amount of time to prepare for Baby O. So, we signed a year-long lease yesterday and we will save and be as frugal as possible until next year…and then we will re-evaluate and try again. I am actually not as upset about this as I thought I would be. Mostly, I think, because I am just happy to be getting out of this house so that I can finally get a few minutes of peace.

On My Mood:
This pregnancy is pretty boring, you guys. I’m not complaining. But you might be if you got all excited that I was going to get all super bitch like I did when I started this blog. Believe me, super bitch is alive and well. But I am not sure she is even worth blogging about. Because she sort of just gets pissed about no one ever doing the dishes. It is less about puking this time. And I know everyone would rather read about puking than lazy people. I mean…AmIRight?

Anyway, I feel strangely calm. I am terrified of the single income situation and adding in the expense of rent. But I am certain things will work out. I am not sure what has happened to me. Or why my anxiety hasn’t kicked in and caused some sort of mental break, but I am serene. I’m not gonna lie and tell you I don’t want to drink an entire bottle of Pinot by myself. But I can wait. I mean, maybe only until 30 seconds after I give birth. But still…that totally counts. I recently called my husband “an accidental master of the Tao” and I sort of feel like he might be rubbing off on me. I feel confident in our situation. Fat, but confident. And I mean, I guess I can deal with the fat thing…because, let’s face it, this is the last time I will ever have an excuse to gain a bunch of weight and eat copious amounts of cupcakes. So there.

A Revelation

A pregnant woman

A pregnant woman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today, I am 21 weeks pregnant.

The whole thing is still kind of sitting in the pit of my stomach like a brick, some days. Like, I am not sure if I am going to wake up from some really stressful dream wherein I have accidentally gotten knocked up again. AGAIN. Some days, there is a heaviness and an uncertainty that I can’t shake. Some days, I cry a lot.

Today was not one of those days. Today, I had my second OB visit. Of course, I had the appointment on my calendar for 1pm and it was actually at 10:30 am so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get to see the doctor. But, they saw me. And they didn’t even make me wait for hours. MB was able to come with me. Which only happened once throughout my entire pregnancy with Baby L because of his work schedule. We got to hear Baby O’s heartbeat again and, to my surprise, it didn’t make me want to run out of there or drive my car into the ocean. I felt calm. Serene. Ready to DO this thing. And then MB and I went to lunch. Alone. To one of my least favorite restaurants. But I had a surprisingly good sandwich and then a delicious chocolate malt. Because I am pregnant, you guys!

And then we came home and Baby L was playing contently in her playpen with her grandma standing by. She must have heard me come in, because she peered outside of her little baby pen and saw me and she got the most excited I have ever seen her get for anything or anyone. And in that moment, everything wasn’t just OK, you guys. It was beautiful. And I’m having another baby! And he will be beautiful and wonderful and hilarious and his little eyes will light up when he sees me and he will clap and giggle and I will fall in love with him every day!

You will have to forgive my little revelation, but please know that if I had blogged yesterday, you would have been swept away by the flood of tears that were flowing and FOR NO REASON…so this is a vast improvement.

Also, Hooray for babies!