14 Weeks!

Oh my god she's giggling!




Well technically she smiles HUGELY a lot and then occasionally giggles, the rest of the noises she makes are straight lion. Literally. Sometimes when I'm in the other room and she's hanging out with her dad all of a sudden I hear this *ROAR*, followed by her father's high-pitched squeals of delight and part of me thinks, "Oh my gosh that's f-ing precious!" and the other part of me thinks, "Shouldn't those noises be the other way around?" I guess they should be - if you like boring!

You know what else would be boring? If she wore the same outfit all day instead of galactically shooting poop into her clothes, and managing to get it unthinkable places. (Your shoulder, really? How did you poop on your shoulder!?)



"Guess where it's hiding this time!"

Or just nursing like a normal baby instead of nursing, and then mid-nurse looking up at me, smiling, and then sneezing into my boob whilst chomping down on it like it's made of brick and cannot be hurt thus sending me into a wail that causes her father to jump up and freak out because apparently my scream matched that of someone being murdered, all the while non-boring baby is smiling at the chaos she has created like a little sneaky sneak.

Or not peeing on mom right before bath time and then again right after! (Really?! You can't pee in the water like a normal person?)



"Chubby cheeks! Who care if you get peed on, I have CHUBBY MOTHER F*$&ING CHEEKS FOR YOU TO LOVE!"

Or staying put on her activity mat because she's three months old, instead of being totally stationary and then when mom leaves the room for a second to grab a donut (Oh Mah God - am eating crumb and powdered donuts like they'll give me every lasting life. Are so good. Want to take sexy bath in tub filled with crumb donuts.) somehow managing to be a good two feet away from her activity mat, with confused look on her face about how she got there, or how her hands got in her mouth. (Is very excited about hands being chewed on, but always looks baffled as to who put them there.)

I've come to realize there's absolutely nothing boring about having a baby. Even if you desperately want it to be boring, there's no way these little suckers will allow that. They've got things to spit up on, smiles to throw around willy nilly, screaming to be done, poop to be put in weird places, and cuddling to do.

Oh my gosh the cuddling. The cuddling so makes up for anything they'll ever do wrong.



(For now anyway)

3 Months Old!

You shut your face my baby is three months old! I just pushed her out like an hour ago!





Oh my gosh a lot has happened in three months. And also, not a whole lot has happened. I mean, the Pork Chop has changed a ton, but I'm pretty sure there's a pile of unfolded laundry in the corner of my bedroom that's been there since July. She now smiles, and giggles, and farts like a grown man - but as far as me getting anything done aside from nursing and/or nursing, it hasn't so much, uhm, happened. I try! Every day I think, "Today I will do x." And then I head out to do x, when all of a sudden my brain goes, "Oh there's my baby! Let's kiss her and watch her drool! That's way more fun than x! DROOL WATCH 2011!"

But I have started taking tennis lessons again, and running, and baking, and working a few hours a day, and that seems like a heck of a lot if you ask me. Especially when there's drool happening over there!

Now tennis. . . oh my gosh. I'm not what you would call naturally athletic, it's more unnaturally unathletic. Like, holy cow she's really bad at that sport. And that's not even a real sport. That's dominoes.

But, as the father of my child says, I make up for it because I'm enthusiastic. I try, even though my arms and legs refuse to cooperate with what I want them to do. And I get all pumped and excited about it and want to play all the time because playing sports, and games, and stuff is fun! Even if I end up as bruised as the day is long from ping pong! It's still fun! Plus if they didn't want you to dive on the ping pong table to get to the ball, they shouldn't have made it dive-able height, am I right?

Anyway, tennis. I started learning to play when I was pregnant. Probably not the wisest choice since now that I'm taking lessons again I swing wide around where my belly used to be because that's how I learned to hit. I'm pretty sure my new teacher is looking at me like, "Does she have Harry Potter secretly standing right in front of her all invisible like, and that's why she's hitting like that?" (I wish)

So, it's gonna take some time to re-learn some tennis-y things, but it's gonna be fun. And if there's anything I can teach the little pork chop about this it's, "Mama is real sorry if you get her coordination genes and not Dad's supernatural ones. Seriously, he's so good at stuff sometimes Mama thinks he's secretly Michael Jordan and Phil Mickleson's love child. But, even if you do get your athleticism from Mama, at least you'll have fun flailing!" (Because 'fun failing' sounded a little too sad.)



Mom, are you supposed to be falling so much during tennis?



Never mind I fell asleep. Tell me about your lesson later.



You hit who with the what?! HAHAHA! Best. Story. Ever.



It's a different day, and I'm in different clothes, but that's still so funny that you gave yourself a bloody nose! Who does that?


I do Pork Chop. I do.


Oh I love her smiling face so much I want to eat it off!

Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader? No, But My Answers Are Probably More Fun

So, you know how kids ask things? And as parents you're supposed to know answers? Like, I very clearly remember thinking my mom knew everything. And while logically I know that's not true, I will still call her to ask questions in any category, because somewhere deep inside me it's ingrained, that she's my mom so she probably knows how to wash a shower curtain, or what I can use instead of eggs when I'm baking, or where my good jeans are dangit(!) even though I live several states and a time zone away.

Well, based on this conversation I had with my sister, I'm fairly certain one of two things is about to happen - #1 My daughter will quickly realize I know nothing except every fact about the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills there is to know, and that I can inappropriately quote Grease 2. Or #2, She will take my facts as actual facts and thus will run around life with a Nell-like view of the world, saying things to her friends like, "The Berlin Wall came down because bad people did bad stuff once and then they apologized like a million years later, and probably baked some cupcakes for the good guys to say they were sorry, and then they tore the wall down because it was an eyesore really. I mean, a big concrete wall? Whatever happened to some lattice. A little vine action anyone?"



"Mom you're so funny! Who the heck is Nell?"



My conversation with my sister over instant message regarding the upcoming holidays:

Becky: We need to talk about Thanksgiving.

Me: Ok well, let's start from the beginning - a long time ago pilgrims came to America and met some attractive Indians, nowadays we call them "Native Americans", and they have a high incidence of alcoholism among their tribes.

Becky: (No response. I keep going.)

Me: Anyway, the pilgrims decided to stay and take over the Indians' land, and the Indians were like, "Ok, but first here's how you make corn. If you grow enough corn you can have a tribal meeting and the spirits gather to make a cornucopia." and the pilgrims were all, "What's that?"

Becky: wow

Me: and the indians were all, "It's a big. . . well, it's sort of like horn-shaped, but it doesn't make music . . . it's big on one end and tiny on the other. Basically we keep our bounty in it. And later it will be important in the teen books The Hunger Games."

Becky: fascinating

Me: "Now let's eat before you give us small pox and steal everything we know and love."

Becky: it all makes sense

Me: and the pilgrims were all, "Deal! Thanks!" And that's how we got thanksgiving.



So basically I need more sleep and to relearn some things. But until then, I'll be feeding this little monster every two hours! Because she's cute!


I like to luxuriate. Big time.



I also like to nap. Nappity, nap, nap, nap.

Stages

Sometimes, when the whole house is asleep, I sit up in bed, in the pitch dark, sipping boxed wine and eating not one but two ice cream snickers bars - two, not because I am a tubbo, but because I am used to eating the King Sized ones, and we only have normal sized ones which are entirely way too small for someone who has to do things like eat ice cream and drink wine at 3am, while her boyfriend snores cozily next to her, and the cat shoots her questionable looks, because it's the only peace and quiet she gets during the day where she's not working, or mom-ing and dammit if she isn't going to enjoy that precious five minutes by eating and drinking herself into a nice little midnight nap before she has to get up and nurse her monster-y little pork chops and start the day again, hoping to god she'll remember to put on deodorant this time because even the baby seemed offended that one day.

Dear Snickers Makers,

Don't even bother with the normal sized ones. They are bullshit.

Sincerely,
Everyone Who's Ever Had A Child





"Mmmmm, Snickers!"



Also, you know you're in a different stage in your relationship when you stop eating the ice cream bars in the middle of the night, and instead bring both of them into bed with you at 10pm when you're magically both going to sleep at the same time, you don't even pretend to just bring one anymore and then have to sneak out and say something weird like, "That first one didn't taste right", but instead crawl into bed, kiss your boyfriend before you turn on your laptop to watch an episode of Will and Grace while washing down your little treat with the finest boxed wine Cost Plus World Market had to offer!

And that stage is called 'Parenthood'. Things are different in this stage. There are no walls, no facades, no pretending you don't go number 2 anymore (which every girl does, like a maniac, even when you live with the person you'll run around hiding it, and waiting until he leaves the house, thrilled to have some privacy, only to be totally horrified when he forgets his wallet and comes back into the house shouting, "Honey where are you?" and you don't want to say, "In here!" because then he'll come and try to talk to you through the door about your relationship or something equally serious that you'd been trying to discuss with him all morning, but does he want to talk about it then - nooooo - he was too busy watching Sports Center and teaching the dog to do karate chops with his front paws, but now he wants to talk, so instead of saying, "In here!" you get all quiet and shut your eyes hoping he'll get magically hypnotized and walk right out of the house without further looking for you, but of course that doesn't happen, the silence just makes him more curious, so suddenly he's standing at the door, trying to open it for Christ's sake, and you're all screaming, "NO NO NO NO! Don't come in!!!!!!" while simultaneously trying to grab a bath towel to cover yourself up as if that's going to hide the fact that you're going to the bathroom, like he's going to be tricked by the towel and just say, "Oh, you must be showering. See you later, just forgot my wallet." But no, once he hears the panic, he jiggles the door even more [because boys are mean] and says, "Uh oh. . . what're you doing in there." - "Go away." - "Is something going on in there?" - "Please go away." - "Are you dropping the kids off?" - "Oh my god." - Then some more talking and laughing, and you resolve to never come out of the bathroom, never, ever again, as long as you both shall live, Amen.)

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, stages. Once a person sees another person coming out of your hoo-ha it's all out in the open ya'll. Which I gotta say, is kinda nice. I thought that once we'd hit this stage all the magic would be lost. That suddenly we'd be like roommates instead of a loving couple, but it turns out it's nice to be so comfortable with someone and know they still want to make out with you. You know, if the baby is asleep and you were actually capable of making out before falling asleep with your shoes still on.

A few pics that have nothing do with the blog:


Our last warm day we made it out for a long walk. And by 'we' I mean, I walked, the Pork Chop fell asleep. Lazy.



Someone is very suspicious a lot of the time.



Sneaking a peek.

Happy Halloween!

We told her to work on her scary face and that's the best she could give us.

Scary cute!

My sister found this little monster costume for her when she was here two months ago, and bought it because we call her our little monster. At the time I was like, "Oh my gosh, she's not gonna be big enough in two months to fit into that." Then two days ago I was talking to my sister on the phone and I was like, "I don't think she's gonna be big enough to fit into that." Then magically (witchcraft from Halloween?) I put it on her this morning and it TOTALLY FIT! My little baby fits into 3 month clothes now!!!

Cut to me spontaneously sobbing in the bathroom.

SHE'S GROWING UP SO FAST.

Ok, I can still palm her like a basketball, and she's only 11 weeks old, but still, pretty soon (if I have what's coming to me) she'll be stealing my makeup and lingerie and trying to convince me she never used the fake id, it was just for fun, then somehow I'll get talked into driving her to her friend's house where her boyfriend is secretly waiting to have an hour long make-out sesh with her precious little face, while I wait at home biding my time by reading her not-so-hidden journal and discover she'll have to be grounded until she's 30 but I can't tell her it's because of what I read in her journal because I'll respect her privacy, and because I want her to keep writing in it so I know what's going on, so instead I'll have to make something up like, "You're grounded for not finishing your homework" and she'll be all, "It's summer break.", and I'll be all, "Oh sure. Are you trying to tell me you finished every piece of homework assigned to you last year?", and she'll be all, "What?", and I'll be all, "That's what I thought! Now go to your room!" and then she'll go up there so as not to have to deal with me anymore, plus I'll forget that's where her laptop is, and she'd rather be all interneting with her other boyfriend anyway, and then I'll remember her computer is there, open the door and shout, "Turn that shit off!" and she'll be all, "Dollar!" and I'll have to put a dollar in the cursing jar again, and then she'll start crying and I'll ask why, and she'll explain about her two boyfriends dilemma (one is smart and funny in a Rushmore sort of way, the other is not so smart, but so smoking hot it ruins her brain when she's around him so conversation doesn't seem important with him) and we'll talk about it, and I'll guide her to the right choice (no boyfriend at all! join a nunnery!) (kidding, go with the hot guy, that rushmore guy is just gonna get more indie in college and if she's my daughter [which she is] she's gonna change her mind about 'her type' seven hundred times before she accidentally gets knocked up at 30 and winds up surprisingly with the love of her life she didn't even know she was looking for, and be totally thrilled because he's great, and her baby is great, great and just getting bigger by the second!)

*sigh*

Time goes by so fast.

Now, if you'll excuse me - I have to go hide all my makeup just in case.

10 Weeks!

Someone keeps dressing my daughter like a homeless person.



I mean, what the heck is going on there? And what about here?




Is whoever dressed her color and pattern blind? Or were they just drunk? I mean who did that!?

Oh, right. That was me. But to be fair. .. I was drunk.

Ok, no I wasn't but she didn't start off all Fisher King, she started out in a cute outfit and then proceeded to pee and or poop on pieces of the outfit one at a time until I've changed her into what can only be described as "an art student outfit". And I can say that because I went to school where the professors wore outfits exactly like the one's she has on. Except with more b.o.

Anyway, mismatched outfits aside, ten weeks is better than nine, which was better than eight, which was better than seven, and so on. People tell you that you'll love them more every day and as cliche as it sounds, it's totally true. It doesn't matter that you only get four hours of sleep (not in a row) or that you get pooped on at the same time every day, or that your nipples are so bruised and blistered and slathered with anti-bruise and blister cream that they resemble something out of a horror movie and you can't ever imagine that they'll be viewed in a sexy way ever again - the sheer joy you get from watching them do something as simple as wake up beats everything.

I mean. . . how can this not make your day?





Yes, she did poop in the middle of filming. Sorry about that, but I sorta only get one take.

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go change someone's pants so that she looks like the lost member of Color Me Badd.

9 weeks!

So my little lady is nine weeks old now!

"I'm not sure why you keep dressing me like a flamboyant fisherman."

Because it's cute, that's why! She's right though, I love that hat but it does sort of make her look like a gay Popeye. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I just don't want to influence her career choices this young.

(Filling out insurance forms - Occupation: Popeye.)

(hahahahahahah)

Anyway, she's nine weeks old but doesn't even weigh nine pounds yet. Teeny, tiny porker! She weighs 8lbs 13oz, which is better than last time, but still pretty tiny for what she's supposed to be I guess. The doctor was kind enough not to let me know he thinks my boobs are defective. Yet. We're going to try another three weeks of guerrilla style breast feeding (wherein I feed her every two hours militaristically. If she sleeps through a feeding she has to drop and give me thirty push ups. I'm not running no sissy boob camp here girl!) and then weigh her again and see where we're at.

The unfortunate thing about the last doctor's visit, aside from the immunizations I already mentioned, is the fact that I went alone. And when I'm alone there's no one there to stop me from rambling, or just talking aloud in general. And sometimes I desperately need someone to stop me. Especially when talking to professionals.

Me: So she's not gaining enough weight?

Dr: Well she's small, but it could just be she's a skinny baby. I mean, you're pretty skinny.

Me: No, I used to be. Now I've got these folds, not even rolls, but weird folds right around here (**motions to my stomach area**) and here (**motions to my thighs**) (Not sure why I included thighs).

Dr: I just mean that you're tall and. . .

Me: Also, I have this weird line on my foldy tummy, that ends at the belly button, and then takes off on the other side of the belly button but from a completely different spot. Like whomever was painting the line got drunk, passed out, then woke up and started five feet away from where they should have started.

Dr: What?

Me: I don't mean someone was literally painting a line on me, I mean the line some women get from pregnancy.

Dr: I know what the line is.

Me: So, do you think my milk isn't fatty enough?

Dr: I don't know if. . .

Me: Because I can step it up with the donuts. I can eat the crap out of some donuts.

Dr: I'm not sure that's exactly how it works.

Me: Ice cream then?

Dr: You can eat all that stuff, but I'm not sure that's the problem.

Me: What?!

Dr: No! Not that there's a problem, just keep doing what you're doing.

Me: But what if the ladies are the problem? (I never refer to my boobs as 'the ladies'. Am totally unsure why I chose this moment to do so. In manner of totally sanity, stop myself from explaining I do not usually go around telling doctor's my boobs are my ladies.)

Dr: (has just said something, probably something important, but I do not hear it because I was stopping myself from being even more inappropriate.)

Me: Mmm. Hmmm. (Is standard response. Hopefully it makes sense to whatever he's just said.)

Dr. . . .

Me: . . . .

Dr: Are you doing ok?

Me: What?

Dr: Emotionally. Are you doing alright?

Me: Who, me? (no, the woman behind me) Yeah. No. Yes I mean. I'm totally fine.

Dr: You sure?

Me: Yeah. Yes. I am fine.

Dr: Ok.

Me: I mean I cry a lot, and I'm not sure if I put on clean socks or not, but I'm good.

Dr: Ok.

And then he sat with me for another minutes until I calmed down.

Clearly I'm fine!!!

He must see this a lot though, because he waited just the right amount of time before leaving. The right amount of time being just long enough that I wouldn't burst into crazy tears, and right before I burst into crazy tears.

Oh, motherhood! It's so fun!

But it really is. Especially because of that little half smile right there.

And this little girl summoning the waiter for the check.

She's been waiting for like a half an hour already!