Monday, December 27, 2010

I wonder if the Beaba cooker could handle a steak

Marlo is seven months old today, which among other things means that I am woefully behind on my six-month reviews. Ah well,  a seven-month review must be all the more authoritative.

Right now, I'm taking a break from making baby food, for my baby who doesn't like baby food. My refrigerator is brimming with apples, and let's face it - when there is Christmas candy in the house, those apples don't stand a chance. What better to do than blend them up for the baby, who might deign to eat them one day?

Yes, we're back to square one with the eating. Marlo has not been a fan of solids, despite her initial enthusiasm. So last night she got completely runny rice cereal, just like the first attempt a month and a half ago. I thought maybe it was a texture thing and tried giving her those little puff things, but she doesn't seem to be a fan of those, either. My latest hypothesis is that she just wants a fork and knife and a big plate of meat like she sees us eating - but rather than try something with that much potential for disaster, I decided to start over instead. Fingers crossed.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

I hate when it's all exposition and no action

If you've been reading this blog for a while (and who hasn't?) then it will probably surprise you to know that one of my big interests is nutrition. You may have guessed that I like to cook - you at least knew I like to eat.

I have a cookbook collection that must be up to about 100 volumes by now. Not to mention all my saved Cook's Illustrated magazines and the millions of pages torn out of my subscriptions to Cooking Light, Eating Well, and Food and Wine. But actually, I hardly ever follow a recipe. That's why it's hard for me when someone eyeballs my cookbooks and asks me which one I cook out of the most. They're mostly like food porn for me - I love to look through them and fantasize. I love nothing more than to get a bunch of ingredients, open a bottle of wine, and try making something. Cooking for me is my most creative release.

It was hard for me, then, to have the baby and lose that free time to just play around with making dinner. When making dinner was a chore rather than the highlight of my day, it really depressed me. It also depressed me that I was eating such a load of crap. All the processed convenience food nonsense that I normally wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole became staples.

But you know what? That baby's getting big. Life is stabilizing - despite my fears that it would never happen, there's a sense of routine and normalcy around here. I hardly dare say it, lest it send life into a complete tailspin, but I think that maybe we have adjusted to having a kid and we can handle day to day life like real people again? I had to make that small so fate wouldn't be tempted.

Anyway, part of the "back to real life" plan is getting the ol' diet back on track. But since my exposition took so long, I'm going to go ahead and save the rest for another post. Merry Christmas, if I don't see you before then.

Monday, December 20, 2010

The Sickness

My Christmas present to you wonderful people is NOT posting a picture of myself and how I look right now. But if you are brave, you can look here and see a pretty good representation.

I woke up this morning with my left eye glued shut and my right eye followed soon behind. But not soon enough for me to mention to the doctor. The doctor?! You say. Yeah, the doctor, where I went this morning to get antibiotics for the sinus infection I've developed. She was too distracted by (ironically enough) her daughter's eye surgery to press me for details on the "I woke up with snot coming out of my eye" part of my description of symptoms.

I got so miserable that I called my parents' doctor (because he is stupid and gives out his cell phone number) and begged and pleaded for some eye drops to relieve my pain. I asked if he thought my gross eyes were because of my sinus infection, and he said, "nope, probably just a coincidental conjunctivitis." Fabulous. Coincidental pink eye. How lovely.

Well, Merry Christmas, family! my gift to YOU is horribly contagious eye infections! Hurray!

I cannot WAIT to be done with all this sickness.

Friday, December 17, 2010

She also turned me into a newt, but I got better

After feeding the baby at 2:30 this morning, I was having trouble going back to sleep because I was composing a blog post in my head. Finally I told myself, just stop it. This is ridiculous. You are never going to remember any of this in the morning, anyway! 

And whaddya know. I have absolutely no idea what it was that had my brain revving at a million RsPM. Or however it is you measure brain activity.

I've been hit with the Sickness for the second time in as many weeks. That really pisses me off. I blame my sister entirely, for she gave me one of those finger-across-the-neck "I'll kill you" pantomimes Wednesday and by the end of the day my throat was so sore I couldn't swallow without crying. She has voodoo power and must be burned at the stake. The only, uh, bright spot is that Husband is also sick and stayed home yesterday, so he did most of the heavy lifting when it came to baby care. She also has developed the snarfles (you might call them the sniffles) and I am dreading the idea that we are all three just going to pass around the same cold for time immemorial.

But. It's a rare crystal-clear sunny winter's day around here, and I must stop my moping. I should bundle myself and that baby up and go out for a stroll. The fresh air will cure us. Or put us in the hospital for Christmas.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

So tired, I forgot a title

Did I ever tell you about the dream I had where I was dating James Franco? That was a hot dream. Which is weird because I have no amorous feelings toward the guy in real life. I did love him in Pineapple Express, and I do love that he was on General Hospital (because that's just weird), but that's the extent of it. Would I give him the key to my hotel room? Not really. But anyway, back to my dream, it was also weird because it wasn't really me, it was like I was in "Eat, Pray, Love." I wasn't really dating James Franco so much as I was just the lady from that movie and so therefore I was dating him. And no, it wasn't that I was Julia Roberts - oh whatever. Either you get it or you don't care. Either way, no need to keep explaining.

Why do I bring this up? I was reminded because of the Pineapple Express thing. We're experiencing some pretty dramatic weather and apparently the meteorological phenomenon of that name is to blame (as opposed to the weed). So last night was about the most severe thunder storm I've ever seen in these parts. The whole sky was green and the power kept surging, giving the bedroom a charming poltergeist quality.  I was up because I was pretty sure a tree was about to come crashing through the roof to kill us all where we slept, and also because Marlo had no interest in sleeping. At all. Ever. I would say it was probably 3:30 by the time I actually fell asleep, for the first time all night, and she was up again by four. And then again by six. And then again, well...you get it.

She's sleeping now. Been sleeping for a good hour and a half. I would love to go wake her up and give her a taste of her own medicine, but...then she'd be awake. There's no winning.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

If I'm completely honest

I could have saved you the trouble of reading (skimming half of) that long-winded cloth diaper post. You want to know the real, honest truth?

I don't like the way clothes fit with cloth diapers. There. I said it.

I saw a woman make that complaint in an online cloth diaper forum back when I was pregnant, and I thought she was a totally shallow ninny.

I know, baby legs and exposed cute cloth diaper. Problem solved! But that's not really that practical. I received about 7,000 onesies as shower gifts. What am I supposed to do, crop them all off? Hem little baby t-shirt seams in my abundant spare time? While I wait for the washing machine to signal that it's time to put the cloth diapers in the dryer? No thanks.

So there. I admit it. My reluctance to use my cloth diapers boils down to baby fashion. 

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Six month review: Cloth diapering

After I finished the first draft of this post, I realized I sounded anti-cloth diaper. When you take into account the fact that Marlo has not worn a cloth diaper in close to a month, it REALLY sounds like I am anti-cloth diaper. The truth? I am totally pro-cloth. In my head, anyway. I love cloth, in theory. I really, really do. In practice, it is a little less lovable - but only a little.

When I found out I was pregnant, one of the first things I spent a lot of time and energy researching was diapering, and specifically the pros and cons of cloth versus disposables. From the get-go I was leaning toward cloth. All of the evidence suggests cloth diapers are better. They are better for the baby, better for the environment. They cost substantially less money than disposables. The only problem is that they are also a giant pain in the ass when your level of ass-pain is already at an all time high.

The ass-pain comes from the extra laundry. Using cloth is a commitment to doing an extra load of laundry every other day - at most, every third day (no matter how many diapers you have, you really can't let the dirty ones sit too long).  It IS extra trouble. And I won't bother making the "it's also extra trouble to run out to the store for more diapers" argument, because I think that's horse manure. It is way easier to use disposable diapers. Period. But you pay for that convenience.

Then there is the issue of the washing of the poop. It's way easy if you exclusively breast feed. The poop is basically cheese curds and it washes away without a second thought. If there is some formula in there, I hear it's more complicated. You have to get the poop out before the diaper goes in the wash. The same goes for once solids are introduced. If I am completely honest, I will tell you that Marlo has worn a cloth diaper about four times in the past month, since she started solids. The last time she wore a cloth diaper, she pooped in it. We were sorely unprepared. Husband had to wash it out in the toilet, old-timey washboard style. I think he is still scarred, and this was probably three weeks ago.

For me, all ass-pain and poop aside, it comes down to the fact that using cloth sits better with my conscience than disposables. Americans throw away 570 diapers every minute, according to the interweb.  That is so much garbage! In our household we try to keep our garbage production to a minimum, so it just kills me to throw out a whole tall kitchen bag of dirty diapers every week. Sure, you can use biodegradable diapers (and we do), but it comes at a cost of almost twice that of traditional disposables. And there is no guarantee that once in a landfill they will actually biodegrade.

So here are my recommendations, based on our experiences with cloth over Marlo's first six months:
  • Don't bother starting cloth right away. Brand new babies poop and pee constantly and their tiny little bodies don't fit in diapers very well. I would wait to start using cloth until your baby reaches the eight pound mark, and then I would use a sized all in one diaper, like a Thirsties or maybe the Bum Genius XS
  • Buy sized all-in-ones as much as your budget allows. Overall, all in one (AIO) diapers are far and away the easiest to deal with. Sure you can save a bunch of money if you use prefolds and covers or whatever, but your ass pain quotient will also be higher. If your choice to use cloth is more about the environmental impact, and the cost savings is just a nice bonus, go for the all-in-ones. You will have horrible sticker shock at first, but then you will do the math on disposables and feel way better.
  • Don't feel like you have to have your baby in cloth all the time. The ladies on the Baby Center cloth diaper board might shun you for using disposables, but I will still be your friend. I promise. Marlo has always worn a disposable at night and when we go out of the house. But two or three disposables a day beats six to twelve.
  • Liners! Get flushable diaper liners. That will reduce the ick factor of washing poopy diapers. I have tried the Kushies liners and I don't really like them, because they are scratchy. I have the Imse Vimse on order. A friend of mine uses them and says if they are only peed on you can wash and reuse them. 
 It's counter intuitive, but for me it was actually easier to do all the diaper laundry when Marlo was younger and going through more diapers. Now that she is wearing about six diapers a day rather than twelve or more, I get lazy about doing the wash. When we had to do the laundry to have diapers to put her in the next day, and therefore it was less of a choice, I did it more reliably. Now it is just easier to eschew the laundry and put her in disposables. You may not have this laziness problem. But rather than look at it as a lazy failure on my part, I choose to take the glass-half-full position instead. I sure saved a TON of disposable diapers during months one to four of Marlo's life.

I still plan on putting her back in cloth once I get my liners (and my act together). I still plan on using cloth on any subsequent babies born into our family. Diapers are basically disgusting no matter which way you go. At least when I use cloth, I get to feel vaguely self-satisfied.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

I'm proud, but also screwed

I just watched as Marlo - age six months, one week and six days - scooted herself over to the ottoman, got on her knees, and pulled herself up. Once holding onto the ottoman, she surveyed the items resting on its surface before selecting one of her books over the TV remote. She then managed to work herself back into a sitting position and sat quietly turning the pages. It was all very casual for the momentousness of the achievement.

The downside to these strides in mobility is that, well, she's starting to move, for one. And when she is not moving, she is trying unsuccessfully to move, which apparently causes her a lot of angst. There have been many tears shed these last couple of weeks, mostly out of frustration.

It was bad enough when I had to try to not kill her, and now I have to keep her from killing herself? Man. This is going to be a long 18 years.

Triple Threat

I mentioned that I'm working on a series of posts. Technically, it's not a series yet - I've been working on the first one for a week now. Apparently I don't remember how to write well anymore.

Sure, I can post this crap, this sort of fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants, grammar and punctuation optional BS. But when trying to put together a nice five paragraph theme, I find myself struggling. Basically I'm no better than the 40 year old former high school football star who thinks he could still win the state championship. I used to be able to write beautifully, but having not exercised that muscle in, oh, a decade, I find it has atrophied JUST a little bit.

Law school, in case you're wondering, doesn't count for writing practice. What you do in law school does not exercise that writer's muscle. What you do in law school kills you slowly, like being bled to death with a million little needle pokes. Plus the occasional hammer to a non-critical point on the skull, just for good measure. But that's a whole separate post, now, isn't it?

Breaking news! I've just discovered that I have some sort of rash all over my forearms! I just get sexier by the minute. I can't wait to go look in the mirror and see if it's also on my face. I'm guessing it has something to do with the eucalyptus steam I've been huffing to try and clear my sinuses (see earlier comment re: sexiness).

Monday, December 6, 2010

Things I no longer have a need for

Since cutting my hair off, there are certain things laying lying around that are no longer necessary:
  • Wide tooth comb in shower, for detangling rats nest of hair
  • My Turbie Twist - mock all you want, I don't care
  • Brush to keep in car, which I just purchased a few weeks ago
  • Big set of hot rollers, purchased on 10/29 and used twice
I think the moral of the story is that I am really good at wasting money on things.

EDIT at 12:52: Bonus points if you can guess what happened to my old big set of hot rollers.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

My blood boileth over

Generally speaking, I should not be allowed on the internet. Or rather, I need some sort of parental control over the content I am allowed to access. I should be excluded from all sites containing political discourse, especially if comments are enabled.

The problem is, the internet is full of idiots. Present company excluded, of course. It is a soapbox for all-comers, and most of the people who take advantage of the forum are complete and utter morons, if not entirely delusional and/or criminally insane.

Most might be an overstatement.

But you see, I read the rantings of these lunatics, because I just can't help myself. I have to look the crazy in the eye. But then I get fired up. And then I go do something stupid like post a comment about it on Facebook. That is always a mistake, because everybody knows that politics are not a part of polite conversation, and one must treat Facebook as a cocktail party and not like,  I don't know, a computer screen that only you can see. Real, living people and what not. Then I usually end up in a big fight with bullies I don't even know but who are friends with my friends, and then I am sad and feel all alone in the world. Which is ironic, for a social network.

It crossed my mind to post some rantings of my own on this blog, but I would hate to alienate my loyal readers, who now number in the mid-single digits. Up until now you thought I was all cute and harmless - but it turns out I'm a dirty liberal sympathizer! Who believes President Obama WAS BORN IN THE UNITED STATES. Crazy, I know.

I might not be able to help myself. I'm working on a series of posts called my "six month review," where I discuss my experiences with various baby things, like diapers and breastfeeding, etc. But I may slip something in there about the TSA search procedures and how they absolutely do not violate your 4th amendment rights. For instance.

What can I say? I'm mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Just like Lord Byron. Or Dylan McKay.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Six Months

Holy Crap, I turned around and the baby was six months old.


Yep, last Saturday was her half birthday.  She went to the vet pediatrician on Monday, and weighed in at 17 pounds 4 ounces, 26 and a half inches long. She's advanced in nearly every category, naturally, and perfect in every way imaginable.
 
Funny story. I told the doctor that Marlo is working very hard on learning to crawl, and she gave me a polite "oh, really?" and smile in response. Cut to three minutes later, when Marlo decided to flip over and get on her hands and knees in the middle of the exam. "Oh wow, you do have an early crawler!" was the doctor's response. I knew she thought I was full of shit. Way to play for Team Mom, Marlo.





Thursday, December 2, 2010

Shave and a Haircut

Circa 2005
I would like to enter into evidence Exhibit A : Me with short hair and no baby. Just so all you haters know that I am not just giving up on life and getting mom hair - rather, I know from previous experience that I can rock the short look.


So. Here it is, the new 'do. Sorry for the low quality photos. I know you wanted to look at me in HD.


My stylist said, "you have such a cute little head for this haircut." I said, "thanks, you mean my pinhead?" and she spent the next several minutes scrambling to convince me I didn't have a pinhead. I thought that was funny. I should probably be nicer.


I love, love, LOVE having short hair like a boy in the back. I bet I would like to have boy hair in general, except for looking at. The feel of it, I would be all about.

It's a work in progress, but a good start. So glad that I did it. If it looks like mom hair, it looks like the hair of a cute mom I would think would be fun to have a beer with. I would seek this woman out on the playground. And, bonus! No more foot long hairs all over the place. Now I can shed them and think, oh, that's probably just Mo's hair.

I brought home my big long cut-off ponytail to give to my dad for Christmas. It's kind of an inside joke that you may find creepy. But probably not as creepy as how last year I gave him my baby teeth.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

It's like Justin Bieber and Kate Gosselin had a baby

Ha, no, not really- but scared you there, right?

My short hair is awesome. My only complaint is that my stylist refused to cut it into a mullet first and take a picture so I could fool all y'all.

I would show you a picture of the real deal, but frankly I am enjoying a glass of wine and changed into my sweats before I took a picture. Anticipation is the best part!

Monday, November 29, 2010

Thanksgiving +4

Here it is, the day that separates the men from the boys. The pros from the amateurs. The day when you ask yourself, "can I really stomach another turkey sandwich?"

The brave will answer, "yes."

I have eaten turkey exclusively since Friday 3pm. There is a gap in my consumption because my parents are stingy bastards and don't share the leftovers from their bird. This means I have to come home and cook a whole turkey before I can enjoy a sandwich. And we all know the sandwich is the best part. Most of my leftovers-meals consist of a turkey sandwich with a giant plate of sides. Because what the meal needs is more carbs.

Mo had an idea for a Leftovers Burrito that was intriguing, but ultimately too "out there" of an idea for us to try. We tend to be pretty strict conservatives when it comes to Thanksgiving leftovers.

In other news, I'm buzzing my head tomorrow. Hopefully this is a good idea and not something I came up with while turkey drunk. If I'm going to have to pick up my hair from all over the place, it might as well be shorter pieces.

EDIT: I lied. I forgot about my Red Mill burger on Saturday! But other than that, all turkey all the time.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Mama needs a new pair of shoes

Everyone I know is buying a GMC Terrain. Are they giving them away or something? Do you get one free with purchase of your Thanksgiving turkey at the Piggly Wiggly? And isn't the Terrain the same thing as the Chevy Equinox? Why do we have to have both again?

Enough with the questions.

Today is Winter Storm Deep Freeze 2010 Day 2: The Aftermath, and the local news has been showing the same bus spin down a hill for six hours straight this morning. It's enough to drive a girl to drink. And/or watch Jessica Simpson perform on Regis.

I will check in again later when hopefully I have something interesting to talk about. I may actually leave the house today because husband and the 4WD truck are home for a snow day.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Snows!

I love snow. I love it because I grew up in the Seattle metropolitan area, where it only snows every so often, and when it does, the entire city goes into mass hysteria. To wit: schools closed early today because we are supposed to get 2 inches of snow this afternoon. It's supposed to be sunny and cold tomorrow and a district superintendent said he just wasn't sure whether schools would be able to open. This is the sort of thing that makes non-natives from places like Buffalo or whatever where it snows 20 feet a day all winter long go into a rage and demand more snowplows. It is the sort of thing that makes native folk like me grab a beer and a big piece of cardboard and head to the nearest sledding hill. Which is any hill because most roads are just closed instead of plowed.

In summary, snow days for grownups = RAD.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Update!

I remember now! The guy who decided sweet potatoes were a good idea for a first food. Sweet potatoes, that stain everything within 50 feet bright orange. Sweet potatoes, with their extra sticky starchiness. Yes. That was the other winner of misogynist of the day. The guy (or lady) who thinks it is funny to get sweet potato all over my house.

I will address the irony of my own misogyny in my misogynist of the day posts in a later post.

There's a fatal flaw in my "cry it out" plan. That would be the fact that the baby's still sleeping in my stupid bedroom. Which is to say that the past two nights we sat there in the dark listening to her go EHHHHHHHHHH for 45 minutes or so. Finally I got up and snuck her pacifier back in her mouth, hoping that wouldn't count as "going to her." I plan on rolling her pack n' play down the hall to her room this weekend.

Speaking of this weekend. It seems not so much like today is Friday, but definitely like tomorrow should be Saturday. Not really sure what the difference there is, but it exists.

Which reminds me of my favorite of the Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy: If you ever drop your keys in a river of molten lava, let 'em go, because, man, they're gone.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Distract me, won't you, while the baby cries

Now comes the unfortunate part of motherhood...pissing your kid off for their own good. I'm sure in the future there will be lots of doors slammed and I HATE YOUs shrieked. Maybe even a couple of middle fingers thrust at my turned back. But for now there's just the crying from the pack n' play.

We'll see how long this lasts. But for now we're in sleep training mode. I'm conflicted. Part of me buys into the whole concept - the baby wants to stay up and play, but the baby needs sleep, so put the baby to bed and don't let her out. However, I also buy into the equal and opposite hippie concept: the baby needs love, and to feel validated, and so pick her up whenever she cries and don't make her sleep when she obviously just wants to love you.

I'm paraphrasing of course.

My goal is to get baby girl's naps consolidated. Right now, she wants to sleep for about 40 minutes of every other hour. This makes it quite difficult to get anything done. You know what else makes it hard to get anything done? Listening to a baby cry for 20 minutes.

I could use some vodka.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Misogynist of the Day

Welcome to a brand new feature on the Blog is the New Mom Jeans Blog!! The Misogynist of the Day!!

Our inaugural honor actually goes to two people - yes ladies and gents, it's a tie. Drumroll, please...

Misogynist number one: Whosoever was the asshole who greenlighted the Alvin & the Chipmunks cover of the song "Bad Day."




Misogynist numero two: I'm so mad at the Chipmunks guy that I forgot.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

I smell an Oscar

I'm going to go ahead and call it now. The Best Picture of 2010 is Burlesque. How could it not be?



It's times like these I wish I was a gay man, so I could go to opening night in drag. But as which character? Cher or Xtina? Oh, it's been keeping me up at night.

I need to get my hands on the screenplay.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

The best part of being a stay at home mom is all the time to myself

I never would have guessed that being a mom would mean yearning for the carefree days of my youth when I could dig around in my own eyeball for a piece of contact lens without interruption. Yet here we are.

I wear daily disposable lenses. Most of the time they are great and I love them. But every once in a while they splinter into little plastic shards upon contact with my eyeball, at which point they become Piece of Shit Stupid Effing Contacts. You may have a  similar product around your own home.

Funny story. About a week after Marlo was born, in some sort of sleep deprived haze I hear is common for new parents, I lost a piece of a contact in my eye. Or at least I was pretty sure I did. I couldn't tell for sure because I didn't remember what the thing I took out of my eye looked like. But my eye felt weird. It felt like there was some sort of foreign object involved. But I wasn't sure.

I went to the eye doctor. It wasn't my usual doctor but one of his associates I had never met before. He acted a little bit like I was batshit crazy, a little bit like he was going to catch something from me seeing as I was a woman only a few days postpartum. Then again, I remember shoulder checking a door frame for no reason other than I didn't quite have the strength to walk right, so maybe he was on to something.

ANYWAY. The best part was he told me, "now, this is going to be a little bit uncomfortable, but I have to roll your eyelid inside out." What I said out loud was "okay," but what I thought in my head was "Dude. Don't worry about it. A kid with a fourteen inch head just came out my vagina. I'll be fine with your stupid little eyelid games. You pussy." So he did the eyelid thing, poked all around, never found the contact. He assured me it probably wasn't in there, but if it was, it would work its way out and not, say, migrate up into my brain and give me a stroke.

SIX WEEKS LATER. Sitting in my bed, rubbing my eye...what's that big nasty thing I just felt fall onto my cheek? WHY, it's a piece of contact. I'm telling you, I never felt more vindicated in all my life. I made phone calls. Do you know I actually went in to the eye doctor to tell him that I just got that piece of contact out of my eye? I mean, I was there to buy glasses but I made sure to tell him. Thus proving that I am not crazy? I guess.

I thought of this story as the stupid piece of shit effing contact lens broke apart upon insertion to my eye yesterday, as Marlo sat screaming on my bed, the only thing calming her my presence in her line of sight. It's stressful enough to dig around your own eyeball for a piece of transparent plastic, nevermind ratcheting it up with screaming infant. It makes you do crazy things like start putting something in your eye that you are pretty sure is eyedrops without actually checking first.

Thankfully, it was the eyedrops. The offending plastic was located. Marlo was subdued. I lived to fight another day.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Science!

Remember that tomato I mentioned? The one that had been sitting on the counter since before we left town?

Behold the suspicious fruit.
Well, there it is. Looks remarkably healthy, right? Remarkably not at all like you would expect a tomato to look a full three weeks after it came home from the store, right? If you read my previous post RE: this tomato, you know that I was itchin' to cut it open and confirm my hypothesis that it was filled with all sorts of black puss and/or other signs of rot and disgustingness.


WELL. Imagine my crestfallen little self when I cut it open and it looked like so. Perfectly normal! My disappointment quickly turned to paranoia. What sort of weird ass genetically modified fruit is this thing? Am I just completely ignorant in the ways of the tomato? Is this normal? I have a little pint of heirloom cherry tomatoes sitting on the counter that I bought 5 days ago, and I have to weed out the moldy squishy ones on a daily basis to save the still-edible ones. So why would this one be fine?


But then the happy ending. On closer inspection, I noticed that a bunch of the tomato seeds were SPROUTING ON THE INSIDE. Looks like a bunch of creepy maggots. Hypothesis CONFIRMED. The tomato was, in fact, disgusting inside after all. A victory for me and for science.

And yes, this is the sort of thing I do for fun.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

It's all fun and games 'til the baby gets salmonella

Let's count all the ways I'm endangering my child's life in this picture, shall we?


Now, before you take any umbrage, let me assure you that she did not actually ingest any raw cookie dough. That I am aware of. She was just really, really in to grabbing that spoon. She actually got a hold of it while I was still in the butter and white sugar only phase, and got butter and sugar everrrrrrywhere. Husband was none too concerned about getting it cleaned up. "But she'll be all butter-hands!" I protested, to which he replied, "better than butter-face!" Hearty har har. Such a wit, that one.



On to child-endangerment, part two. Look at how perilously close to the edge that Bebe Pod is! I actually didn't realize that at the time, and was sort of shocked when I saw the pictures. Wait, don't tell me - she shouldn't be up there at all, right? Right. I know. If it makes you feel any better, she's on the floor now. Watching TV, as a matter of fact. Damn, I can't win.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Two days in a row! Take that!

So I was lying in bed this morning, willing Marlo to go back to sleep, and I had all SORTS of ideas for blog posts. I had like 10 of em that I was going to start as drafts, and then bazaam! post all the time.

Needless to say, instead I had to actually get up with the baby and, you know, take care of her. Then I fell back asleep. Then poof! no more blog ideas.

Oooh, I do remember one. I have this tomato that has been sitting on the counter since before we left. Somehow it looks all fine and dandy on the outside, but I bet if I cut into it I would find all sorts of nasty horrors of moldy tomato guts. Being a true scientist, I plan to test my hypothesis and share with you the results. Now if that's not enough to get you to follow me, I don't know what is!

Speaking of following me, you may notice I added the "subscribe to" gadget over on the right hand side. This is because I was approached by a fan while on my travels who suggested I should add it. Got to keep the fans happy!

Friday, November 5, 2010

My carbon footprint would make Al Gore cry

Okay, so I didn't spend my whole trip blogging. Sue me. But you should know that I am a licensed attorney in the state of Washington and my specialty is frivolous, made up lawsuits. Full disclosure and all.

The trip went well, although a certain baby who shall remain nameless did cry for most of the five plus hour flight home. We've been hard at work correcting our sleep schedules, laundering the laundry and unpacking the five metric tons of crap we carted around for two weeks. I really wish I was more of a hippie and had just done the trip with like a sling and some hemp products that all fit in one carry-on. Instead we had two suitcases each, a pack n' play, two carry-ons each and two boxes we shipped home. Not to mention the stroller and the car seat. Like I said, five metric tons of crap. I used to pride myself on my light packing abilities, so having to cart around all this baby gear is a bit of a blow to the sense of self. And we won't even get in to the minivan we had to rent to lug all that stuff to and fro.

So now I guess we just enjoy the calm before the storm that is the Holidays. Although there's not much calm to be had - Santa is arriving at the local ritzy mall on November 19 - the weekend BEFORE Thanksgiving. Two weeks from now! I'm not sure I'm ready for this.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

excuse #1

Okay so the hotel we were staying in all week had free wifi, but the way they can afford to offer this service apparently is to not actually make it available. The network was unavailable pretty much the entire time we were there. Plus they gave us the wrong password when we checked in, so it took until Wednesday before we could try to log in with the right information.

Fascinating stuff, right?

Anyway, we had a successful and fun week in Hotlanta. Marlo and I spent most mornings napping and lazing about, before venturing out into Centennial Olympic Park in the afternoons. They have a fountain water show set to music that is sort of reminiscent of the one at the Bellagio except way suckier.

I took Marlo and Husband to the Georgia Aquarium - I had been before, about four and a half years ago when I bought my wedding dress in Atlanta. It's such an impressive place that it's hard to be nonchalant, even as the veteran in the group. I was happy to share it with my little family. Marlo was a big fan of the Belugas, who both swam over to check her out. Whales and dolphins like babies. I'm no marine biologist but I can tell.

Oh, did I mention buying my wedding dress four and a half years ago? It was our fourth anniversary a few days ago. We did not celebrate and there were no gifts exchanged. I expect that will be remedied this weekend.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Crap.

I forgot to tell you about Marlo turning 4 months old. Suffice to say it happened, she grew, I can't believe how big she's getting, yadda yadda.

Burglars, go watch TV for a minute. Okay, now that it's safe, I'll tell you that we're going on an epic adventure of a trip, two weeks away with no swing for a baby who only likes to sleep at night in a swing. Hurray! Nothing like ripping that band-aid off and getting on with life! Oh, and did I mention we're crossing three time zones? And the last time we did that she didn't sleep for more than an hour at a time all night? What joy.

I'll try to blog my adventures. Considering I'm going to be stuck in a hotel room all week with a napping baby, I have very little excuse not to.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The satanism will be all my fault

Someday, when Marlo is all Goth, I will have only myself to blame.

She is currently being soothed to sleep by the sweet sweet sounds of "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush" as rendered by the dying batteries of her swing. It sounds like a horror movie in here.

Adding to the terror ambiance is the half head of hair strewn festively about my pillow this morning. I can just hear the rumblings amongst the guests of the wedding I'm in next month, as they try to figure out who the chesty bald bridesmaid is - a long lost cousin, perhaps? Fun, I'll be an enigma! Not that I would ever be so self absorbed as to distract from the bride. Remind me.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

That pretty much sums it up

You may notice I changed the blog title. That's cuz the new one seems much more reflective of what's going on around here. Not so much "adventures" but "boring old mom crap."

I've been meaning to update more often, really, but this blog is drifting into glorified baby book territory, which is never what I was interested in doing. At least I've saved the poop stories for my PEPS group. The baby stories might be more interesting if I actually had the time to develop a coherent narrative, but considering my free - slash - interwebbing time comes in spurts and starts, that's not really possible.

But it's getting closer to possible. I think. I am learning, slowly but surely, how to prioritize and spend time wisely. And how to ignore the baby while she screams in her crib so I can get my perez hilton read. Ha! A neglect joke! Won't Marlo just laugh when she's 15 and googles herself!

Friday, August 27, 2010

Three Months

My little girl is three months old today. Count 'em, three.

A quarter of a year ago, a whole season ago, I was sitting (gingerly) in a bed at Swedish Hospital, drinking a chocolate milkshake for breakfast, deliriously tired but euphoric from endorphins. The baby I'd spent an hour and a half pushing out,  my baby Marlo, was finally in the hands of the nurses, getting all those things nurses do to babies done. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the best I was going to feel for a while.

It's hard to remember the specifics of those early weeks, but I know that it was a slog for a while there. I guess it's good news that my hazy memories are all of happiness and warm fuzzies. You gotta love the way your brain erases pain over time. But I was thinking the other night, as I rocked Marlo in the nursery glider at 2 AM, wow, I used to do this every night. Twice. At least. That just amazes me. It wasn't that long ago that was my life, but it has become such a foreign concept.  No wonder people get suckered in to having a second baby. You don't remember how much it blows.

As of today, officially, I am no longer the mother of a newborn. She is a garden variety infant. The fourth trimester is complete. I am so looking forward to all the new things she is going to learn and do over the next three months, but I am just a little bit wistful for my little froggy-legged newborn. She is on the express train to adulthood. There's no turning back. I'm never going to hold that fresh tiny baby again. It's sad.

First Bath At Home (2 weeks)
But then again, I do like sleeping longer than three hours at a time.

First Bath in the Big Girl Tub (3 Months)

Friday, August 13, 2010

11 Weeks

It has been 11 weeks since I gave birth to that baby. It's hard to say whether it feels like it has been a long time or a short time, because I'm pretty sure I never noticed how long 11 weeks took to pass before. Well, before pregnancy anyway. It seems baby time is the only time you measure time in weeks, really.

So, what's different? Marlo has been semi-consistently sleeping six or seven hour stretches at night. She generally sleeps from 9:30 to 4:30, then goes right back to sleep until 7:30 or 8:00, and then conks out no later than 10:00 for a three hour nap. The afternoons are full of cat naps and then generally Husband wears her in the ergo carrier most of the evening. So she sleeps a lot, is what I'm saying. Or slept, since I just completely jinxed myself into a life without sleep by broadcasting my good fortune like that.

She is also getting really strong, and can push herself up to standing when you hold her under the armpits or by the little arms. She has her head pretty well under control. I've sat her in the Bumbo chair a couple of times, but only for five minutes at a time or so (relax, baby police!). She's working on a giggle that I'm pretty sure is going to  end up getting her whatever she wants from her father and her grandparents.

As for me, I'm aiight. I think I've already forgotten what it was like around here in the beginning. Now it seems like it's leveled off some, and things are easier. But I can't conjure up what it was like that was any harder. It's weird. It's like how you forget physical pain too I guess. This is a horribly vague and disinteresting paragraph and I apologize. I am distracted by Marlo scaring herself with her toys in her bouncy chair. Which proves how things are different around here from a month or two ago - I can set her down and let her play and sort of get some stuff done. Next step will be learning to prioritize so I can write funny and interesting things instead of this drivel.

11 Weeks

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Mother's Intuition

I was TOTALLY wrong about Marlo's size. She is 12 pounds and two ounces. Oh yeah, and also 24 inches.

What do you know, it turns out your mother IS always right.

Everything checked out all fine and dandy at her appointment. She's developing on or ahead of schedule. She's in about the 80th percentile for weight and 95th for length. Her head is still in the 50th, I guess she's destined to have a little pin head like her mom.

She did cry a bit when she got her shots, but really, who doesn't? I think I cried the last time I got a tetanus booster. Or maybe that was after I got it when my dad slugged me in the shoulder instead of just saying "hello" like a normal person. At any rate, Marlo ended up with a dropper-ful of Tylenol and an early bedtime last night, but is otherwise no worse for wear.

Marlo, 2 months

Friday, July 30, 2010

Just for comparison's sake

Here we are at our wedding, four years almost ago. Note my non-fat face and perfectly normal sized boobs.

In which I bitch about my baby fat

It's summer and I have an infant. These are my top two excuses for not posting, in no particular order.

Marlo turned two months old on Tuesday. She has her 2 month check-up with the pediatrician later this afternoon - so I'll update you on her vitals soon. In my estimation she is about 12 pounds and 24 inches.

As for me, my weight loss has stalled a bit and that depresses me. Just in time to start losing all my hair and get really depressed, I suppose. I'm really rather vain, you see. I considered my pregnancy a success not because I gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby girl, but because I didn't get any stretch marks or varicose veins. I gained 41 pounds, and looking back at the three pictures of me pregnant in existence, I was pretty much big as a house. I'm short-waisted and small-boned, so even ten pounds around the middle gets pretty significant. As of my six week follow up with my OB, I had lost 25 pounds. Hurray, right? 25 pounds without any effort, just sitting through breastfeeding sessions eight times a day. Three weeks later, I stepped on the scale to discover I've lost...27 and a half pounds.

Now, hold on. I know what you're thinking. That's still almost a pound a week! That's still with no effort, other than breastfeeding eight times a day and not ever getting to eat because the baby won't nap! I know. It's still wonderful and can't really be considered stalling. I should be ashamed of myself. BUT the problem is that now it LOOKS like fat, and not like perfectly excusable pregnancy related weight. I'll get over myself, I promise. Feel free to slap me in the face next time you see me. My still-fat lookin' face.

And did I mention the size of my boobs? Well, lately? They're frightening. Especially if Marlo naps for a particularly long time (which does happen every once in a while - it's feast or famine with this girl) and I get a little engorged. They remind me of the death star. Especially when you see Marlo's head up against them. I am thinking about putting them on the kitchen scale to see how they are contributing to my weight retention - although since I don't have a pre-pregnancy boob weight to compare them to, it wouldn't really be very accurate. Still might be fun. Especially if I can take some SFW pictures of the process.

Here ya go, here's a picture of me with my fat face and giant boobs, eight weeks postpartum. Astute observers will note that I'm wearing the same dress I wore four weeks, um, prepartum? at my baby shower. Husband looks handsome, as usual.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Slipping on down the priorities list

Sorry, blog. I was going to update you and all - but now the weather is (finally) nice and I'm going to go  hand the baby off to Grandma and spend some time floating in her pool. You understand, don't you? Good.

I even have pictures of more vegetable matter I have consumed and everything. Maybe later.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Long time no see

When's the last time I showed you something I ate?? Been a long time, that's for sure.


That's a blurry picture of a Cobb Salad. It's the perfect meal on a hot day for a woman whose diet consists mostly of cookies. What a colorful array of nutrient filled ingredients! And not one of them an M&M.

I highly recommend the Cobb Salad. It was a bit of an ass pain to put together, but so delicious. If you want to know how to make one, I suggest google as I am far too lazy to type it all out. Busy. I meant busy.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Post - postscript

I must say that since my rantings yesterday, I feel much more gently and benevolently about the whole breastfeeding thing. I guess it was good to get it off my chest.

Geez, is it just me, or is the topic of breastfeeding just ripe with the opportunity for bad puns and stupid jokes? Try it, rewrite that last sentence in your head. It will make you want to punch yourself.

I'm working up a post on my experience with cloth diapers so far. I'll write it as soon as I get some free time from washing cloth diapers.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Breastfeeding is for suckers

Let's get one thing straight, right off the bat. I'm not quitting breastfeeding.

But I do kinda sorta tend to think that breastfeeding SUCKS BIG EGGS and I do not enjoy it one bit.

I do not enjoy breast pads. I do not enjoy nursing tops. I do not enjoy pulling my shirt over my head while a little tyrant screams bloody murder because I AM NOT DOING IT FAST ENOUGH, DAMMIT.

I do not feel bonded, or awash in maternal love. I feel slightly used, maybe violated even, and awash in breastmilk. Stinky, sticky breastmilk that leaves big cold wet spots everywhere.

Plus, my little tyrant is not such a strong swallower. She gags, she chokes, she blows milk out her nose. She makes awful screeching sounds like a baby bald eagle and then she blows cheesy breast milk curds all over me. Sometimes all over my nipple, as she doesn't bother to excuse herself and pull off before she vomits.

See, the thing no one tells you when they tell you motherhood is a full time job is that breastfeeding is its own full time job. I easily spend eight hours a day breastfeeding - which is why I have been executing covert operations with my breastpump for a while now. I've been building a freezer surplus in hopes of eventually liberating my body from the ball and chain that is this baby of mine.

The sweetest, cutest, most lovable wonderful ball and chain, I mean.

Last Friday, I decided it was Time. I pumped while the tyrant napped. I transferred the milk to a tommee tippee bottle, handed it to Husband....and suddenly, in spite of myself, I wanted that bottle back. As much as I wanted to be free, it broke my heart to hand that bottle over. My little girl was going to get her first meal from somebody else. What if she didn't need me anymore? What if all I was to her was a big dairy bar and if she could get it elsewhere, that was fine by her? SHE IS GROWING UP AND LEAVING ME!

But, tears in my eyes, I let it happen. I knew it was for the best. And what do you know, it worked!




She took the bottle like a champ. And another one Saturday. And another one Sunday. I even got to drink two and a half beers on the 4th of July! The world is my oyster. With one "relief bottle" planned per day, I can choose when to use it. It's like having the get out of jail free card. Or the free spin on Wheel of Fortune. Or whatever game analogy you like. I can use it for the 5 am feeding, or if I'm feeling spry at 5 I can wait and use it in the evening when I might feel like having a little extra beverage. Huzzah for bottles!

P.S. I must add that although she is looking at her father in this picture, she spent most of that first bottle looking over at me. I love you, too, little tyrant.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Five Weeks

Oh faithful readers (both of you), I have been remiss. It's been ages since I last posted.

It's just that it's sort of hard to prioritize your free time when there's a newborn around. Turns out.  I would have loved to post daily on whatever cute thing Marlo was doing, but instead I used my free time to brush my teeth. Or eat something more substantial than a banana or a cookie. Bananas and cookies make up about 90% of my diet these days.

But let's get to the good stuff before the Tyrant wakes up and I have to quit writing.

Marlo turned a month old on Sunday. Here is her portrait:


She had her 1-month checkup on Monday. She weighed in at nine pounds, 10.5 ounces. She has shot up from the 20th percentile at birth to the 75th. A little Pork Chop, indeed.

Friday, June 18, 2010

How it all went down - Part three: Let's get this over with, already

All right, I'm sick and tired of not being done telling this story yet. So let's do it and be done.

By the time it was pushing time, I was more exhausted than I think I've ever been. Never mind the fact that the rumors are true - you really do go into some sort of crazy trance during labor. But I had basically gone through transition with a useless nurse and a husband who knows better than to tell me what to do in the best of circumstances. Meaning I had completely forgotten everything I had ever learned about managing the pain and had just gutted it out. I did everything wrong. I tensed up, arched my back, breathed too fast...you name it, I did it wrong.

Luckily I had Angel Nurse for that last half hour, who got me to focus and do it right. Feeling that little bit of control for even a little while helped me feel energized - or if not energized, like I wasn't going to pass out and die.

So pushing. Everybody glosses over pushing. You have these long, detailed discussions about early labor, active labor, transition, and then they just go  "pushing is good because you feel like you can actually do something. Okay, and then you deliver the placenta. The end." I am here to tell you that pushing is not that simple. It is not easy, nor is it fun. You spend the whole time thinking "really? You're sure that this is the baby? Cuz I think it might be a crap." I never felt relieved to be an active participant, I just felt pissed off that it was so hard to get that little baby head past my stupid pubic bone.

When I Monday Morning Quarterbacked the whole thing a few days later, I decided that pushing might have been easier/gone better if I had been a little more upright. I was essentially flat on my back. I had no intention of pushing flat on my back, because I paid attention in childbirth class and I knew that was the worst position to be in. It turns out, though, when you have slept for an hour and gone through several hours of intense contractions, you don't really have the energy to squat or even say out loud that you would like to sit up a little more because you're not really feeling the urge to push. I never got that super intense urge to bear down and I think it's because I was too flat.

It ended up taking me about an hour and a half. It's funny how you can be in a super intense situation like that and still have stupid little concerns in your head - like I remember noticing the doctor looked bored and worrying that I should be hurrying up. When I finally pushed Marlo out it was out of shear desperation. I just couldn't stand to push anymore. So I took a deep breath and I pushed as hard as I could...and then I swear I felt myself rip in half from front to back. I was convinced for that split second that I had completely ripped wide open and I had one ginormous gaping hole where all of my genitalia had formerly been. I honestly thought oh my god I don't need stitches I need surgery.

But that thought was short lived, because suddenly there was this gooey baby on my chest. Staring at me. Reaching her arms out toward me. Reflecting my expression back at me, I'm sure, one that said "what the EFF just happened?" I remember that I could feel her umbilical cord coming out of me, feel that she was still attached.


It's funny how quickly you forget everything else. I went from being a crying, whining, screaming floppy mess to sitting upright, bright and conversant in seconds flat. I had a small tear because Marlo came out with her hand to her face, but I barely noticed that I was being stitched up. We got to spend a good hour to ourselves, just me, Marlo and Husband, before we had any weighing or testing or eye dropping done and before we invited my family in. It was really one of the best hours of my life.

So, I did it. I had a baby. I had a baby naturally, no meds. I packed a whole big hospital bag full of iPods and tennis balls and other labor devices, and I didn't use a damn one of them. Was it as bad as I thought it would be? Just about. Would I do it again? Yes and no. It was definitely do-able. But next time I'm tempted to take a stack of Us Weekly's to the hospital and get my epidural right at 4 centimeters. It seems like a much more relaxing option.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

How it all went down - Part two

Okay where was I?

Oh yeah, my water broke. By now it was 4:15.  Mo called my sister and my parents to let them know we were being admitted. I had one of those giant puppy house-training pad things stuffed into a giant pair of mesh underwear and was walked down the hall to my room. I know I had to stop at least once and lean on the wall through a contraction. The room was about two doors down.

Now, here's the deal. I remember my childbirth class teacher telling us that successful natural delivery in a hospital setting totally depends on having the right nurses around. Truer words have never been spoken. My first nurse was a lovely woman I'm sure, but she was horrible. Awful. I hated her so much that I peed on the floor just to spite her. True story. What can I say, childbirth brings out the animal in you.

(*side note: I just said to Husband, remember when I peed on the floor just because I hated the nurse so much? His answer: Yeah, it was the only time you had a smile on your face the whole way through transition. The only time. As if most women smile through the whole thing.)

Anyway, they had become worried about the baby while I was in triage - apparently she wasn't being active enough, so they made me wear the fetal monitor. The good news is that they have wireless fetal monitors at Swedish, the bad news is that they don't work worth a crap. That nurse was constantly on me, contraction or no contraction, PUSHING THE DAMN SENSORS into my gut. I wanted to slap her. Mo wanted to slap her. The only time she paid me any attention was to mess with the sensors. She basically acted like if I wanted to go natural, I was on my own. It was like it was a giant pain in her ass to have to deal with me and my pain - why couldn't I just lie down in the bed, get an epidural and be quiet like a normal lady?

So I labored in the tub for a while, and I hated it. That was disappointing because I had hoped to love the tub. No such luck. I was having some pretty bad back labor and I just couldn't hack it lying down. But the contractions were coming too fast and furious for me to change position. It basically took me getting to the point of "I'm going to die if I don't get up and move" for me to be willing to move. The other two things that sucked: I was so tired that all I wanted in the whole world was to lie down - but as I mentioned, lying down made me feel like my pelvis was going to shatter into a million pieces. The other thing was that I was having acid reflux attacks in between contractions - so I got no break. As soon as a contraction would end, I would get a flare of acid in my throat. And then the next contraction.

Somehow it got to be 7:30 in the morning. It was time for shift change, and the stupid on call doctor was in the room discussing my progress with the stupid nurse. Note that it had been nearly FOUR hours since the last time I had been checked, and I hear the nurse tell the doctor that I was dilated six centimeters. Like she had checked. Like I had made no progress in all the time I had been there. I hear the doctor say "and she's trying to go natural, right? So she doesn't want to hear about pain management?" all warily, like I'm a pain in his ass for not just taking the drugs and shutting up. I'm sitting on a birthing ball trying not to die and these a-holes are giving each other looks like I can't believe we have to deal with this shit. So the doctor turns to me and gives me a big fake smile and says something like "okay, well I'm off, so it will be the next doctor who delivers you. Good luck!" and leaves. Nurse says something similar and also leaves. I would have thought good riddance but I was too busy wishing the doctor had looked at me and actually spoken TO me and asked me about my pain and told me all about epidurals.

So then I start crying. Or maybe just making whining crying sounds. I have totally hit the wall. I look Mo straight in the eye and say those fateful words: I can't do this anymore.

This gets the attention of New Nurse. Angel Nurse. My favorite woman in the whole world. She comes over and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder (something A-hole nurse had not done once in the previous three hours) and asks me if I want to be checked to see how far I've come. Um, YES PLEASE. I felt a sense of relief in knowing that I was either going to be almost done or make friends with the anesthesiologist. But I needed to know either way.

I was a nine. A glorious, buttery nine.

Angel nurse told me that I could go ahead and bear down a little with the contractions if I felt like it, and went to call the new on call doctor to tell her I would be needing her assistance promptly.

Pushing gets its own post. Partly because I really want to discuss it thoroughly, partly because I want to eat lunch before The Tyrant wakes up.

At least she's a cute tyrant.

Friday, June 11, 2010

How it all went down - Part one

WARNING: This post is long-winded and contains brief nudity and adult situations.

It's amazing the difference two weeks can make. It's almost like it never happened. Oh wait, except for the infant screaming from her nap chair. But seriously, the ability of the human brain to forget pain never ceases to amaze me. Because as of two weeks ago, I know a thing or two about pain. Or knew. Because I've already forgotten.

Let's see, where to begin.

Well, as previously reported in this space, my doctor and I were having a little difference of opinion over when I would be considered past due enough to warrant an induction. My doctor won because she is the doctor, and I was told that if I hadn't delivered by Friday the 28th I would be scheduled for an induction the following Tuesday. So I was left to home remedies to try and move things along. Husband and I took a few long walks and did some other stuff together, and by Tuesday night I was like "oh gah, I'm going to have to have sex again, aren't I?" but we were both very okay with skipping it and taking our chances.

Wednesday morning, the 26th, I woke up to pee around 4am. Or I thought that's what woke me up. But I was having contractions, and pretty substantial ones at that. I went back to bed and timed them for a while with my handy dandy iPhone app. They were coming about every seven minutes and lasting about 45 seconds to a minute apiece. When Mo got up to go to work, I told him it might be the day. I hoped it would be, because April 26 is Mo's birthday and I liked the idea that they would have the same-ish birthday. We agreed that he would go to work but come home at lunchtime or when I summonsed him, whichever came first. I stayed in bed, dozing, until about 11:45 - my last lazy day in bed ever I guess. But the contractions kept coming and keeping me out of any sort of real sleep.

Then suddenly, they lost intensity. A friend brought me lunch, my sister and Husband also showed up. Everyone was there to stare at me and I didn't seem to be in labor anymore. Mo decided to stay home anyway and get some rest in case things picked back up. We waited for a break in the rainy weather and went for a walk. We went down to the neighborhood school and walked around the track so we wouldn't get too far from home, just in case. All in all we walked about 2 1/2 miles. I was having contractions again while we were walking, but nothing too serious. We went home and Mo made some asparagus soup for dinner, and I remember that I laughed at its neon green color and thought how awful it would be if I threw it up during labor. We watched some TV and went to bed around 11.

It wasn't much past midnight when my eyes shot open again. The contractions were back with a gusto. I started timing them again around 1am and by 2:30 decided it was time to get Mo up and get the show on the road.


Those last two you see there, at the top -- those were doozies. At this point, I was having to hold on to furniture to get through them. 

I had been absolutely dreading the car ride to the hospital - but it turned out to be not so bad. Considering that between our house and the hospital lies on of the worst-congested stretches of highway in the country, it was a good thing that I was in labor in the middle of the night. The whole trip only took about 15 minutes so I only had to suffer through about three contractions.

We got upstairs to Maternity Triage at Swedish First Hill at about 3:30am on the 27th. I curled up in the fetal position and whimpered through contractions while we waited for the nurse to check me. She came in and asked me my pain level, which I put at about a five. She asked me if I wanted to get pain meds or if I wanted to decide after she checked me, and I went for option B. When the next words out of her mouth were, "oh honey, you are a rock star," I knew I was in good shape. I was already six centimeters dilated, I forget how effaced. She told me she'd get me admitted and into the tub as soon as the on-call doctor signed off on my status. While I was waiting for him, my water broke in a huge gush. I remember being surprised at how warm and plentiful it was. It just kept coming. I also remember thinking "oh crap, this is about to get a whole lot worse now, isn't it?" Short answer: yes.

Well, the baby is hungry and my boobs are aching. Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion, including the absolute horrors of pushing and how I was convinced I was going to need 15 major surgeries to correct the damage done to my vagina but actually only needed a stitch or two.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

And the bidet?

Every time I use my peribottle, I think of this skit...so I thought I would share.

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Sunday, June 6, 2010

My big day


You're looking at it. Nobody tell the baby police I'm letting her sleep on her stomach.

I know I still owe you the birth story. But you can see how busy I am. This is a lot of typing to do one handed. More soon, promise.

Monday, May 31, 2010

She's Here!


The Baby Formerly Known As Pork Chop arrived right on time.


Little Miss Marlo Madeleine was born on Thursday, May 27th at 9:32 am. She weighed 7 pounds 5 ounces and was 19 and a quarter inches long. She has become exponentially more beautiful and amazing every minute since her arrival. Even the moments that have completely sucked have been better than I ever imagined.

Gee, looking at this picture, can you tell which one of us went through nine hours of unmedicated labor and childbirth and which one watched? The nine hours from midnight to nine a.m., mind you, the ones where you would normally be sleeping. And yes, you saw that right, I said unmedicated. But I'm not going to claim I'm a hero - at least not on Memorial Day. Maybe tomorrow.

I have lots and lots to say about the whole experience, and I hope to say it soon. I will have to make the time between applying dibucaine to my maxi pad and stuffing bags of frozen peas in my nursing bra - but stay tuned if you want the gory details.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Everything is done. Literally. Everything.

I've got nothing left to do except have the baby. For reals. I'm washing the last two days worth of laundry right now, just to be doing something. I always thought I was way too lazy to do any of that crazy pregnant lady stuff you read about, like washing all the walls or scrubbing the toilet with a toothbrush. But now I see how it's possible.

Look, I've organized all the closets.


The hospital bag is actually packed, and I actually stick my glasses and makeup and stuff in it every day so that it is actually ready to go.


And check this out! I am SO considerate that I went and made an instruction sheet for the laundry! Now nobody has to wake me from my nap to go ahead and do a load for me. Aren't I sweet?


There's plenty of other stuff for which I have no pictures. Like the freezers full of food, complete with excel spreadsheet inventory...

Monday, May 24, 2010

Before to After

More nursery information.

My sister, her boyfriend, Husband and I did all the painting. The boyfriend was kind enough to hang the chair rail for us in exchange for dinner. Husband really earned his Dad stripes by installing the ceiling fan, replacing an outlet (with only a minor electrical shock), and installing the closet system - which, by the way, required major Dad jimmy-rigging to make work. The sawing of metal was involved. Oh yeah, he also hung the new blinds, which also required rigging in the form of shims and gorilla glue.

As for me,  I did a lot of exhausting visionary-ing and order barking. I did put together the little Ikea shelf, organized and put everything away, and applied the owl mural. There is a moon that goes with, but it won't stay up. I contacted the manufacturer and they were kind enough to send me a replacement set which should be here any day.

I can honestly say I've never put quite so much effort into decorating and organizing a room. I really love it, even if she never remembers it. I'm lucky that my sister understood my vision early on and was a big help in collecting good stuff - like the perfect baskets that she found.

You might be wondering why we don't have a crib - well, we have one coming. I'm just waiting for the current occupant to turn three on June 18th. Then it's ours. For now the Pack-n-Play makes a good changing table-slash-nap spot. If only I can keep the cats out.

Some before and after for your viewing pleasure:

 The room being prepped - note we painted the window which was huge ass pain

Auntie prepping the closet

Some sort of shadow people working

Work pants and the ceiling fan

Hard at work on the closet

fin





Sunday, May 23, 2010

Saturday, May 22, 2010

39, make that 40 weeks

Imagine my surprise when I went to my weekly doctor's appointment yesterday, and the nurse greeted me with a hearty "tomorrow's the day!" You see, I have been (not) laboring under the premise that my due date was next Thursday, the 27th. The due date based on certain information regarding my body and personal activities that I am privy to and my doctor is not.

Turns out that sort of specific information is considered useless by the medical profession, as they like to base things off of the more imprecise yet more easily computed Last Menstrual Period. So regardless of what sort of helpful information I could provide, my doctor spun her little wheel and wrote down the 22nd. And that is all that matters. My twenty week ultrasound put my due date at the 26th - which is only one day off from what I told her, you might notice - but because it's within some sort of statistical variance allowance, the 22nd rules.

Why do you care? You might be asking. Don't you want that baby out of you anyway? Isn't this good news? It is good news, I guess. I have fast-forwarded through the last week of pregnancy and now I'm really truly an ANY MOMENT NOW pregnant lady. The problem is that now we are 10 days away from getting induced rather than 15. If I have not delivered by next Friday, the doctor is going to schedule me for an induction after the holiday weekend. So now you're all, who cares? What's the big deal about getting induced? Right?

The big deal is that getting induced makes taking the drugs and getting the epidural way more likely. It makes getting a C-section way more likely. All along I have had "get induced" at the top of my "things to be avoided" list. So now I guess my focus has to be on releasing whatever fear I'm holding onto and convincing this baby that she will be much, much more comfortable on the outside.

Is it wrong to visualize myself with a baby in one arm and a glass of wine in the other? Whatever works, right?

Thursday, May 20, 2010

I have things to show you, but I'm lazy

Soon I will show you the results of all the nesty business I've been up to. Like the freezer brimming with food and the nursery in all its completed glory. But for now I am feeling lazy and worn out and oh generally 39 WEEKS PREGNANT and I don't feel like getting the camera.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Why all the talk about plushies?

Since we've finally caught up on Lost, we have time to watch other tv shows. So imagine my surprise when we played the episode of House from three weeks ago and that curmudgeonly doctor was talking about Plushies! Wow, Tina Fey, you totally got scooped.

I think the real question here is, what is going on in the world that Plushies are on the collective subconscious? And then the next question is, why has this turned into a plushy blog?

Monday, May 17, 2010

Nothing left to do but wait...


See that? That's Husband busy indulging my every nesting whim. I just couldn't sleep knowing that there was dirt under the living room rug. It was a nice touch on his part to vacuum IN BETWEEN the pad and the rug - I just wanted him to get around the edges, really.

That Husband, I tell ya. What a saint. He only rolled his eyes at me once or twice this weekend, and I think the orders I had barked were ridiculous enough to deserve it even. Maybe.


We moved the bassinet into our bedroom. That's kind of a weird feeling. Of course now that it's in the bedroom, the cats have become thoroughly fascinated with it. I am hoping to resolve this problem thusly:


See that ugly doll Ugly Doll in there? That was Husband's first stuffed animal purchase specifically for his daughter.  Oh it made my heart grow three sizes when he picked that out. I'll have you know that instead of "stuffed animal" at first I typed "plushy," and then realized that plushy has an alternate meaning. Damn, this parenthood business is just a minefield of potential CPS questioning!

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Welcome

I'm getting pretty well moved in to the new/old digs here.

I wanted to move blogs because I felt a little too limited by the baby pork chop thing. First of all, I haven't thought of the baby as Pork Chop for several months now - the hazard I guess of deciding on her (secret) real name. Plus, I realized that it was short sighted of me to name and base the blog after the temporary name for my fetus - seeing as time marches on and she'll be a real human being soon. And, God willing, I will not be pregnant all the time.

Plus, this blog is named after ME. And really it's all about ME, right? Even when it's about somebody or something else? I'm just trying to do what Oprah says and carve out a space for ME instead of making it all about my kid or my husband or whatever.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Oh and by the way

You have probably noticed that I'm messing with the format again. Please bear with me, all two of you.

9cm to go

Good news from the doctor yesterday. I'm a centimeter dilated! Which means nothing. But it gives me some hope to cling to. Now if only I had some sign that this cold might end soon, too...


Thursday, May 13, 2010

38 Weeks: The descent into madness

Do you see these lists? These are the lists of a crazy person. A crazy person who was up at 5 a.m. yesterday, vacuuming the laundry room and washing baby clothes. Sterilizing baby bottles that might see some action a month from now. Maybe.


But look, my little fashion maven's closet is pretty well in order.


I wish I could say the same for my closet. I got as far as taking everything out of it before I lost my momentum and needed a rest.


Oh, and here is my hospital bag. Yeah, probably going to want to get hopping on that one.

I cried today because the cat wouldn't stop meowing at me when I was trying to make myself something to eat. Husband reminded me of some study that said cats make the same noise as newborns to make humans feed them, and assured me that I probably only cried because I'm so hormonally geared to be sensitive to crying now. I think it was nice of him to say, but probably I cried because I am just that crazy.

I'm beginning to get miserable enough physically and mentally that I get why women just want it over with at this point. I think I'd be fine going the two weeks to my due date, but after that ... I don't want to think about it.