Behind Door #1

Tonight I pushed open my car door, felt it resist, cursed at it for being "broken," and shoved it as hard as I could.
"AAAAAGH!" I heard someone yell and saw my Husband flying across the driveway.
"Oh! I thought you were getting in the back!" I said.
"No," he said, rubbing his stomach where the car door had slammed into him, " I was coming to help you!"
"Oh. And I - I - HIT YOU WITH THE DOOR!" I screamed with laughter as he took the child from me, shook his head and walked away.
"I HIT YOU WITH THE DOOOOOOOR!" I laughed even harder. "THE DOOR!" ;)

Princess and the Pee

Before I had a child, I was completely self-obsessed. And really happy about it.

I slept when I want.

I ate when I want.

I went to the bathroom when I so pleased.

And I was content.

Then I had a baby.

And here was this little screaming monster/angel (depending upon his mood) who needed me to make sure he could eat when he wanted, poop when he wanted and sleep when he wanted.

And I oblige.

But tonight I was hoping for a miracle. I was praying for an easy bottle/cuddle/bed and off he would go into Dreamland. So, to say I was not paying attention when I was changing his diaper would be a gross understatement. Anyone who has ever faced the infant penis knows this - approach with caution - it's loaded. But I, in my stupor and lack of sleep, forgot.

So I lowered the diaper and - was super soaked.

He grabbed the new diaper from me and started giggling hysterical while twisting like a curly fry on an Arby's platter - and just as warm and greasy as one too!

And that, my dear friends, is how this Princess met her Pee.

Look for the next installment in this series: Whiney the Pooh, out soon!

No Pain, No Gain, No Sleep

Baby Harry is nine months old and, until recently, was doing a spot-on job of sleeping through the night. Then he got sick. Like "hey I could probably fry an egg on you if I wanna!" sick.
It was the worst two weeks of my life.
So, obviously, I met his every whim and need on command. If he was hungry even after eating his large lunch, I fed him. If he didn't want to sleep until midnight and could only find comfort by lying on his back, arched over my shoulder like a mink stole, I accomodated. If he felt like climbing my shirt front, ripping off whatever breast-like mass that happened to be in his way, and leaving a goo of baby nose slime in his wake - he did it.
And I showered more.
When he let me.
So now that he's pink and perky and back to a less fiery temperature - I seem to have nurtured the sickness - and the brattiness- out of him.
He sobs if I remove a found toy from his hands - no matter that his new "toy" is usually something that could choke/scar/maim him. He now imitates a banshee on crack if I so much as venture more than 12" from his person - making "quiet time" for momma a near impossibility. And, finally, he refuses to sleep alone.
His Pottery Barn crib with colorful sheets and bumpers?
A torture chamber.
The Twilght Turtle projecting the night sky upon the ceiling?
His jailer.
And me?
I am his Pardoner.
Only I can save him from his cruel cold prison. And so he howls, he shrieks, he yells, he shakes, he grunts, he coughs, he sputters and he pleads: "MOMMOMMAMMMOMMAAAMOMMAMMMOOOMMMA!"
And what do I do?
I escape. I hide. I cry. I --- blog.

Giving Up

As the year 2011 approaches I realize that my life has been less about what I wanted and more about what others have wanted from me.

I am a born people-pleaser.

I may be able to craft a story, type quite a few words a minute (not well, but still!) and I can make the best of most any situation - but I've often felt I was one of those people born to make others shine that much more brightly.

My sister was the brain (even though her grades didn't show it) and she was the beauty (her trophies did show that) and I was - the other one. I often referred to myself as the Danny DeVito of "Twins" - that my sis sucked up the gene pool so that only the leftover crap and sludge caught in the filter was what constructed my DNA.

I lacklusterly finished college with a BA in Criminal Justice - a degree so useless that it is often mentioned first in 2am infomercials to the weak-willed and weaker-minded. Fresh out of college I reached far in my pursuit of Career Advancement - and started work as a Receptionist. At a second-rate law firm. A place that was lovingly nicknamed "Hell" whilst I sat in the lobby and let my brain rot on Harry Potter fan fiction and my butt expand on the consumption of poorly placed Hershey's miniatures.

But things have changed.

And although I am still a people pleaser - I find that my ability to please only one, tiny, demanding person, at a time is --- enjoyable.

So although I may not be a world famous authoress as I once intended - I'm happy now to just be Baby Harry's mom - a fact that should embarrass my semi-feminist bod to the core - but I find it's actually soothing.

I'm not giving up my life for him - I'm just --- giving.

Then again, I could wake up tomorrow in a blind panic and find myself in two years' time, at 3 am on one of those infomercials saying "I'm a Phoenix!"

Merry Christmas Cyberland!

The Unclean

It's been a rough week. Big Harry was gone, frolicking through the Georgian meadows and soaking up the warm southern sun (certainly not working like a dog!!!) while I stayed behind to tend to the behind, and other parts, of my darling baby.
Who laughs at me when I cry.
And laughs harder when I cry harder.
Evil baby.
So when I called Harry today to get sympathy for my maternal maladies, here was his response:

Me: "it's been a hard week. Baby has been a little fussy and clingy and wouldn't let me put him down. Hell, I haven't been able to take a real shower since you left!"

And what pearl of wisdom did he pull from 'tween his butt cheeks? What comforting phrase did he utter to quell my fears and soothe my nerves?

Big Harry: " Eeeeeeeewwww."

Yup. Not "ohhhh, baby, don't you worry, I'll be home soon and you can go soak until you're pruny!"
Nope.
I got "Eeeeeeeewww."

So when the baby wanted to spit up on Daddy's side of the bed and then roll in it like a little hairless puppy- I let him.
Cuz, ya know, "Eeeeeeeewww!"

:)

Baby Pictures

Creative blog title, yes?

Here's some pics of my babykins from the past few weeks. 

Hard to believe the lil' bugger hit the six month mark already!

Baby Harry is growing so fast!

He found his toes the other day - and he's been angry at them ever since - punishing them by biting and chewing on them every chance he gets. 

Also, he figured out that by yanking the dark strands coming out of my head - he can make me make funny, loud noises like, "uugowowow!" and "quititevilbaby!"

Motherhood has its challenges.  Like figuring out how to make pea-vomit-speckled shirts look classy-ish, and how to pack an SUV creatively since you're cramming in everything but the kitchen sink (we have wipes for that), and, of course, how to still maintain some iota of your former personality while calculating the available "free" time you have left in a day.  Which is, usually, none.  

But it has its perks too.  Like having a cute baby.  

:)

"F" For (Lack of) Effort

"You know," I said as I snuggled deeper into Big Harry's armpit on the tacky striped sofa, "we could totally do it right now."  Then I sighed.  "But as soon as we got naked you know he'd wake up."

"I was just thinking the same thing," he said, grinning - and not taking his eyes off of the football game on tv. 

"Is it sad that we now gauge our sex life by whether or not we'll wake up a sleeping baby?"

"Ungh," he grunted - either in agreement or because defense showed blitz or someone dropped a ball/caught a ball/ saw a ball - I don't follow "The Football."

A few minutes later I was standing at the sink when I felt a presence behind me.  

Zzzzzip!  

I felt something pressing against the back of my jean-clad butt and legs.  

I giggled and glanced back at my husband who was grinning. 

I was beginning to make a snarky comment about how it was probably half-time when - we heard distinct crying and disgruntled sounds coming from the other room. 

Baby Harry, sensing his parents were about to do something that would distract their attention from his many needs for longer than five minutes, had awoken and was not pleased. 

"Your turn," I said, turning back to the dishes.  

"Ungh," he grunted.  

This time I'm sure it was not because of a bad football play. 

:)