Babies Bring All Kinds of Things...

Dear Diary, 

Today we went out to eat with my family. On my hip was a cute little bright-eyed blonde baby sporting a leopard print shirt with neon green stitching, neon green shorts and a huge lacey white headband garnished with a gigantic white bow. The very second we walked through the door, a lady actually got up out of her chair to reach across the table to hold my baby's hand. The entire table was smitten by this little girl. I made it through the crowd at the bar and over to the hostess. The lady behind me in line got right up in our faces and was "baby talking" all kinds to my little one, making her smile. Then throughout our time at dinner, multiple about-to-get-drunk, almost-drunk, already-drunk, and absolutely-hammered people came around just to see this little girl and compliment us on her gigantic bow that quite closely resembled a head lamp. My favorite, though, was the guy that walked away from the bar, stopped to look at her and say "she's cute!" only to dash across the room towards the bathroom so he could vomit violently before the door even shut behind him. I sure love listening to a nice vomit session while indulging in a chile relleno burrito. Mmmmm. Welcome to the classic Texan hole-in-the-wall-Mexican restaurant. Good times. 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

P.S. I think lots of people in the restaurant had a case of the "I Don't Know What To Get"'s tonight...

     

I Am A Pacifist.

Dear Diary, 

     Being a mom brings out the crazy in you. Be it for good or bad. Examples of being a pass-a-fist pacifist:

Good: You verbally (or otherwise) attack a critic of your child. The Aint-nobody-messes-with-my-baby *slash* Momma bear in you comes out in your child's defense. 

Bad: Your child ignored your most recent request. For the millionth time. 

Either way, both victims better run.

I think it's safe to say we all have days like this. 

Sincerely, 

Me.

*Sniff, Sniff*

Dear Diary, 

     What a weekend! We ventured off to the faraway land of Prescott, Arizona and it was awesome. However, 4 adults and 2 children in one hotel room can get tricky. Toilets flushing, doors opening and closing, TV getting turned on and off...a recipe for a sleepless night indeed. But it was fun and we made it back home just before sending our little man on an airplane to Texas with grandma and grandpa. I'm pretty sure I died inside for a second or two. And shed some tears. 

     A few months earlier, it would have been my dream to have my workload cut in half at least for one day, and now here I am, tapping my fingers, wondering what I am going to do with my time for the next five days. Our TV hasn't been turned on all day. I've done 3 loads of laundry. I've made an entire batch of chopped green chile. I've taken my baby to her doctor's appointment. I've checked my Facebook. Three times. I've checked the mail. I've assisted my husband in bleeding the clutch of our super old car so he could drive it to work. I've actually eaten breakfast AND lunch. And I am currently laying against a mound of fluffy pillows, covered with a fuzzy wubby, eating M&M's and have a frosty glass of water to my left. Sounds like Heaven...but I miss my little man! Once a mom, always a mom. I wouldn't trade my kids for a million years of relaxtion. (*Did I just hear gasping?*) But it took grandma whisking him away for me to truly realize it. The picture below describes how I feel most days. And after the loneliness I've felt for the last 22 hours, I'd take this chaos back in a heartbeat!

Sincerely, 

Me. The sad momma who misses her little love bug. But seriously. The above picture is totally me. 

Cruisin For A Bruisin.

Dear Diary, 

     Today I almost died. Well, technically I almost yelled, not died. I was at Walmart (you should have known...that place is terrifying) picking out a bunch of potty training goodies for my little man. All of the sudden, I hear this shrill cry of a bratty kid in the next aisle. The mom was apparently used to this behavior and the kid knew how to get under her skin. Mom: 0, Kid: 1. She eventually calmed him down by examining this near-life-size plastic Spider Man he so desperately wanted (that no one would ever die without) and they were jabbering together in espanol. The kid decided to throw another tantrum and the mom left him. Yep, straight up left him alone in the aisle. Mom: 1, Kid: 1. This was good, because I was about to give him a piece of my mind...in his native tongue. Lucky for him, this crazy white lady has taken a few spanish classes. But the back of my hand doesn't need to speak. WA-BAM! I only wish. It made me grateful for the little bundle of sweetness I was pushing around in my cart. He asks for a toy and when I say he can't have it, he just sits there quietly and we keep on truckin. I'm not saying my child is perfect, but the reason he behaves so well in public is because I've taught him to do so. He hasn't always been that way. But it sure does take every piece of energy I own to not whip some kids in line, like, "Here, woman. Get out of the way. Your kids needs a whoppin' and they obviously have you by the balls". I've been at church, at the store, and with friends whose kids I'd like to bop on the face. One day, I just might. 

     So, hide yo kids, hide yo wife, and hide yo husbands, cuz I be whoppin errybody out here. (If you didn't understand this reference, watch the video below. The whole thing. And I'm sorry it took you so long to see this. Skip to 1:03 if you're super impatient like me.)

     
Sincerely, 

Me. The Anti-Brat.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back.

Dear Diary, 

     Having a teething baby makes me want to curse. All the time. I'm certain I have a long string of size 8 font expletives floating around in my mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week while teething occurs. I think this phase of a baby's life is more irritating and mind-melting than watching Jersey Shore. Not that I've seen it...

     But it seems as though when one hellish stage ends, an even worse one commences. For example: Baby begins to sleep through the night at 3 or 4 months. (Usually. This is NOT the case with my youngest, which is why I have this blog. I am partially insane.) Cue the teeth cutting. You're up all night medicating them, then they eventually get used to the pain and stop needing you. But now they stand up in their crib and find ways to escape...successfully. Next comes potty training. ENOUGH SAID. Then your child is in a toddler bed, but afraid of monsters in his/her closet. Then your child grows up just enough to decide sleep is a wonderful thing and you are shaking them out of bed to go to school. Then your kid learns the magic of telling lies. Next thing you know, they are interested in the opposite gender, learning about drugs, and quite possibly deciding that parents are lame. If there is anything motherhood taught me, it's that it is not for the faint of heart. I might have just suffered through a mild heart attack while writing this.

Sincerely, 

Me. The Wimpiest Mom of All. 

What A Baby.

Dear Diary, 

     I am a wimpy mother, indeed. My mom has three grandchildren, none of which she sees as often as she'd like. She has been asking me to lend her my sweet little two year old for a while so they can spend time together and play. And although visions of him walking out of Target with a basket full of new toys and trains, trips to McDonald's to eat chicken nuggets and fries before playing hard at the play place, walks to the park, and lots of ice cream fill my mind and I know he will love it, I am sad to see him go! I have truly had to buck up, emotionally. But how often do moms get to have a week long break from entertaining a child? (More specifically...a two year old!)Five days away from my little buddy sure is a long time. I guess I will have to watch the newest episodes of Curious George on PBS each morning at 9 in memory of him while he's away. *sniff*

     I hope I make it through next week. I will be spending lots of time teaching my little one how to crawl. This way she can just come find me instead of whine when I turn away for two seconds to grab the ketchup from the fridge. Yes, I am that cool. She loves me. 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

Aaaaand, this sums up my baby. Perfectly. 

Oh, Zit.

Dear Diary, 

     I don't appreciate the bad skin I've had lately. I thought the time to get zits was in high school. Not that it was an optimal time to have them, but by way of nature that is just how it is. And yet here I am, closer to thirty than I am to twenty and I still get them. For example, I am currently carrying one in the inside of my right nostril. What the heck is that? And more importantly...how do you get rid of it?

     I guess it makes sense, though. In high school, your hormones are up and down. When having a baby, same thing. In high school, you hit puberty and your boobs grow. Usually. (Can't say that mine did.) When you have a baby, badda bing badda boom.(I got a second chance at that one.) In high school, you start growing into your adult body. When having a baby, welcome round 2 of that "adult body"...minus the tightness and youthfulness of the skin. It's kind of like getting yourself a free intertube permanently placed around your middle. We will call this a skintertube. Maybe I can get myself a TV show that airs right before Sixteen and Pregnant, so young girls know the true nitty gritty of "playing house". Maybe it could serve as pregnancy-repellant. Who knows? 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

Worry Much?

Dear Diary, 

     Yesterday, my husband and I had the incredible opportunity to go on a date. And it was lovely. Nothing like snarfing down a Freddy's steakburger and fries with an appetite of a breastfeeding mother that brought me to the brink of vomiting all night long. Note to self: Never over-eat again. But it was so worth it. 

     Afterwards, we saw The Dark Knight Rises. 

     Best 2 hours and 44 minutes I have ever spent in a movie theater. (I'm a sucker for action movies.) I actually fell in love with Christian Bale, approved of Anne Hathaway and laughed at Cillian Murphy...three things that have never happened before. But Bane was the creepiest villain I have yet to see and it has made me paranoid all day long. We all know moms worry as it is...

*Where's my kid?

*Is he buckled in right?

*Did he eat all his food?

*It's 12:01, you were supposed to be asleep at noon. 

*Is he hot? Is he cold? 

*Who's that man looking at my kid in the grocery store? 

     We're all a bunch of overly-excited crazies at times. But we have the right! However, as stated above, after watching Batman, my levels of paranoia spiked. I was grazing the aisles at Hobby Lobby when I had this psychotic, irrational thought that the lady walking past me was going to stab me in the back with a knife like Miranda Tate did to Batman last night! Then the lady stopped and got right up in my business to look at the same things I was looking at and I think I could have sharted. It'd be a better story if I did. We'll just pretend I did. I'm still scared just thinking about it. 

Sincerely, 

Me. Worry Wart McGee. 

     

     

I Need That Fairy My Mother Spoke Of...

Dear Diary, 

     Moms are good at lying being sneaky and using trickery. As a kid, I thought my mom was magic. She could steer the car with no hands, turn on the TV by pointing at it, and could find literally anything that I could not find in the dad-blam refrigerator. Now that I'm a mother myself, I realize she drove by steering with her knee, had the TV remote slipped into her long sleeve t-shirt under her hand with her finger on the power button, and was just taller than me so she could actually see everything in the fridge. That, and she knew the contents of the fridge better than anyone else in the house, seeing as she organized it. 

     But even though I know that the magic I thought existed was just my mom being on the ball, I think the men in my moms house (a.k.a. my dad, and my brother who still lives with them) think the cleaning fairy lives there, even to this day. It's incredible how fast a house dirties when the fairy takes a day off. Dust bunnies collected, dishes piling up, papers everywhere... (...I hate papers...)

     The cleaning fairy at our house just got significantly more busy after our dishwasher broke. And mom, don't roll over and die after hearing me say this but...I kind of don't mind washing them...? But in true ME fashion, I get to the bottom of the stack, rinse and dry them, drain the water and then my eyes zoom in to a random cup sitting on the bookshelf across the room. Nope, not washing it. Then another dish crops up. Nope again. And before I know it, I have a new load of dishes to wash. So I just pretend they need to sit in the sink a while. Kind of like this. 

Guilty.

Sincerely, 

Me.

A Little Twisted.

Dear Diary, 

     Today was beautiful. I went to bed to the sound of raindrops pitter-pattering onto my courtyard sidewalk and woke up to gray and white clouds hanging overhead a little closer to the ground than usual. Only patches of blue sky found their way between the clouds and as I took my kids outside, I took a deep breath in and said aloud, "Hmmm! It's nice out today!" THEN I REALIZED: It's one hundred degrees out here and I'm thinking it's nice. This Arizona sky fooled me so badly that all afternoon I was being drawn to my tall economy size can of Starbuck's Hot Cocoa as if it were cold out. I cannot wait until Christmas, when it will be only 85 degrees instead of the usual 116 we've been experiencing these past couple of weeks. At least in the winter I don't have sweaty boobs. This winter cannot come fast enough. 

Sincerely, 

Me. The winter enthusiast. Who obviously lives in Arizona. 

And this may or may not be the real reason I love winter. 

The Pants Dance.

Dear Diary, 

     Mix laziness with writer's block and you get no posts for a few days. Sorry about that. And thanks for still reading! 

     So, 3 months ago we decided to let our little nugget cry it out. But to our dismay, a month of no sleep and multiple thoughts of driving our car off a bridge went by before I finally threw my arms in the air (like those people on the infomercials who are in black and white...you know...the people whose lives were basically damned before the beloved product came along and saved them and put them back into color) and took her to the pediatrician, hoping that they'd also have knowledge in sleep-training an otherwise sleepless baby. The answer? Reflux. Buy some Zantac stock, people. We will be keeping them in business. 

     But even with this incredible medicine that she loves, yet tastes like death, the baby still wanted comforting at 4 am. Why comfort = boob is beyond me. Some kids want blankets and stuffed animals, and some kids want a boob to snuggle up to. So after a while of finally getting sleep in the wee hours of the night, I decided this 4 o'clock feeding also had to go. I made a deal with the mister that for every night in a row we let her cry it out and comfort herself back to sleep, we do the adult version of the pants dance. No extra persuasion needed. What I'd give to be a man for a day if for no other reason than to understand their excitement towards the finer things in life. 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

Decide Before You Collide.

Dear Diary, 

     There are lots of people in the world who want kids, but can't have them. There are also lots of people in the world who already have kids and wonder what they were thinking. And there are people in the process of trying to have kids via in vitro, adoption, or the good old fashioned hanky panky. I am in none of those categories. I have successfully completed two rounds of child-making thus far and I am calling it quits for a few years. Possibly forever. But despite which category you fall under, here are 10 things you need to know. (Because I am an expert, of course.) 

1. If you love being nauseous, get pregnant. 

2. If you are an insomniac, a night owl & an early bird (must be both), or someone who just doesn't give a dang about sleeping, have a baby. 

3. If you want all of your clothes to have a variety of stains on them from pureed carrots, spinach, and bananas- adopt a 6 month old. 

4. If you enjoy tapping into your inner Xena Warrior woman, have multiple children very close in age and you will love carrying them and all their gear out to the car and loading/unloading all of that stuff everywhere you go. AND, if you are one of those people who like to throw in an extra ounce of crazy, move to Arizona where the summer high is around 116*. 

5. If doing laundry is your favorite household chore, make a baby that has reflux. 

6. If you hate dairy, chocolate and spicy foods, you will make the perfect breast feeding mother. 

7. If going bald is something you'd like to try, post-partum life is up your alley. 

8. If you don't enjoy going out, have children. 

9. If you love taking daily walks to the dumpster to get a breath of fresh air unload a grocery bag full of feces-filled diapers, motherhood is for you.

10. And last but not least, if you think working is for suckers and you'd rather be at home "not working" a.k.a. watching PBS, doing dishes, laundry, cleaning toilets, cooking, wiping bums, scrubbing floors, cleaning up potty training accidents, building with legos, ironing, calming crying children, giving baths, and running errands- then by all means, be a stay-at-home-mom. It's a piece of cake. I tell ya- those people that "work" are the real suckers.

Moral of the story? Decide before you collide. 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

It Didn't Kill Me.

Dear Diary, 

     Remember how I hate the dentist? But I can't get away from him because I have so many teeth problems due to pregnancy and breastfeeding? Yeeeeeeah. Today I went in to get four teeth filled. Four! Ugh. It was one of those visits where I'm trying to be cool and collected while reading Time Magazine: Olympic Edition. But reading all about Gabby Douglas while trying to not think about the pain I was about to endure like a cow going to the slaughter house only made me want to bee-line it to the bathroom. And if I couldn't get there fast enough, I was sure I was going to just poop my pants. However, I swallowed my fear, made it to the chair and past the nasty pink ball of numbing agent on the end of multiple Q-Tips sticking out of my mouth. 

     But wouldn't you know it, just as that wretched, nails-on-a-chalkboard drilling noise is going on inside my mouth, Kelly Clarkson is belting out "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" over the radio intercom. How ironic. I guess considering my past 8 fillings, 1 retreated filling, 2 root canals and a myriad of shots in my gums that resulted in not only a numb mouth, but numb lips, chin, eyes and forehead as well- I should be as strong as Hulk Hogan since I haven't died yet. Just go ahead and call me awesome. And pray that I never have to see the dentist again. At least for a while.

Sincerely, 

Me. 

The Sound of Silence.

Dear Diary, 

     I'm just not sure anything else needs to be said after viewing this ecard. It is a rare occasion when I have noticed that my house was silent, cocked my head a few degrees, perked up my ears, looked around with a rather suspicious glance, wandered around to find my child and didn't find him doing one of the above things listed on the card. But I must say, it is one of a mother's most delightful moments to walk in and see them playing nicely with a toy or book after expecting to see an entire load of flour dumped onto the kitchen floor. Ah, the things that stress a momma out.

Sincerely, 

Me. 

My Affair With Tony Horton.

Dear Diary, 

     Above is a picture of Tony Horton. In case you didn't know, he is the mastermind behind P90X. He kicks my butt. And gives me rug burns.

     Let me explain. See, I have a protruding tailbone. I cannot do a sit up without sliding across the carpet a couple of inches, leaving a nasty burn or blister on my back side. So naturally, when my husband comes home from work and I start complaining about my rug burn, he realizes our recent whoopdeedoo was indeed not on a carpeted surface and his raised eyebrow indicates suspicion. 

     It is a terrible problem to have and I've contemplated buying a Dr. Scholl's gel shoe insert and duct taping it to my rump just so I can successfully complete Ab Ripper X without sustaining any injuries to my crack. 

     I did get myself a real rug burn once from a little adventure we had in the living room after first being married. It also happened to be the day before Christmas. On Christmas Day, we were opening presents at my parents' house. Apparently I was bum-crackin it and my dad was sitting behind me. He looked at the portion of my exposed burn, shot me a wide eyed glance full of judgment and continued on with his presents. Merry Christmas, Dad. 

Sincerely, 

Me.