A Haiku About Tweeting ... and other things.

It's faster to tweet than it is to post. 
I should post but I don't. 

That's not even a haiku is it? I don't remember what constitutes a haiku. I did remember to put on underwear this morning so really I am still winning. 
 
Also that last post was on my birthday and did I even bring up my birthday of the gifts I should receive therein? I did not. Internet - you're welcome.  

September brings teething, crying and more not sleeping. 
The Raptor is now boob-free allowing me freedom from showing my nipple in public or locking myself in a bathroom to express milk. 

Don't ever say motherhood isn't glamorous. 

 

This

This is what's going on: 

1) Work. 
I got a job! A full-time one that pays in dollars and money-like objects! A job allows me to do buy things like food and shoes. And teeny raptor clothes.

2) Amazingness. 
The Raptor.  This teeny little thing grew into a chunky, lovable, delicious, hysterical baby who sleeps (mostly) and smiles (all the time). 

3) Fitness. 
The GOOD: I learned how to swim! So I can do things like laps and lengths and freestyle and kick turns! And yes I knew how to "swim" before but my "swimming" was better identified as "not drowning." Now I can get all the water up my nose by doing a flip at the end of a length, missing the wall completely, flailing like a new baby seal and then come up gasping for air. Hot right? That's totally swimming.
The BAD: I don't go enough. Or ever. 

Please hold...

I have been starting and dropping posts for weeks now. I get this GREAT idea and then when I sit down to write it goes something like this: 

IDEA...passive verb...hanging preposition...incomplete thought...incoherent thought...DELETE DELETE DELETE 

*pause* 

Flashing Judgmental cursor 

Please continue to hold as I try to write a thoughtfully complete post based on ideas I get whilst drifting off to sleep. 

*My phone autocorrected a misspell of "drifting" to "deodorant." 
I think it's trying to tell me something. 

Raptor: The non-melodious Siren

Woops. Sorry. It's been a minute...or a month...or two. So long that I had to actually check my blog to see what the hell was happening the last time I posted. Let's see...Out of shape? Flabby? Well shit hasn't changed. 

Other than the Raptor, of course. At 4 months we've got smiles and coos and kicking and a hatred of the car seat so deep you would think one of stabs her with hot pokers in the car (we don't). 
Why would you want to stare at the backseat of the car when someone could be sitting right next to you entertaining you? DANCE FOR ME MONKEYS. Except I can't because I am 5'2" and can't reach back to jingle keys at you in an SUV. Nor can I drive from the backseat. Hey Honda - get on that will ya?  

In a long list of things that are the most awfulest she hates to be in the car by herself. That's it. She's sleeping great. She eats like a champ. Overall she's a happy smiley little Raptor who charms the pants of people and acts right in a restaurant. Of course GETTING to a restaurant, or anywhere for that matter, is neither happy nor smiley. Doesn't she fall asleep, you ask? No. No she does not. For a while there the car lulled her to sleep. Raptor v. Pilot echoed the first games of the NCAA tournament - 16th seed against Number 1 seed. Raptor would fold before we left the neighborhood. Now? She gets started before I get into the front seat. 

For Easter we went to visit my sister-in-law and Raptor screamed for a full hour. She caved about 20 minutes from our final destination. Relief was sweet and pure. On the way home after not napping for shit all day she screamed the whole. way. home. One hour and twenty-five minutes of gut-wrenching, hot-poker-to-the-ears SCREAMING.

Poor Raptor. 
Poor US.

Raptor-Dad and I just turned up the radio and screamed over it and her. Like good Cubans who pay no mind to things like volume control or decency. At one point he looked at me desperately and said, She'll stop right? RIGHT?!

ME: Yes dear the wails will cease once we stop the car and take her out of her chair. THEN she will whimper piteously and look at us like we have robbed her of all that is good in this world. 

You see the action of stopping the car and removing her from her mobile prison does not make her happy. On the contrary, she pounds her little fists at you and opens her mouth up even wider to allow for MORE screaming - as if there were any left in her teeny little body.  Shockingly there remains at least 7 minutes of good heartfelt screaming before we can finally soothe her. I cheat and use the boob - what with the milk and the calming - it works. RaptorDad sings to her and bounces her up and down a bit. And then sweet relief as her eyelids begin to droop and she snuggles her head into a shoulder, covering it with tears, snot and drool. Crying is exhausting guys. Didn't you know? 

Finally we put her down in her crib for a nap or if we're lucky, for the night and open a bottle of wine and/or beer. Or three. And agree to never leave the house with this human siren ever ever again.

Yes. I am so vain.

RaptorDad: You ok?

MiT: *whimpers* No

RaptorDad: What's wrong?

MiT: so. out. of. shape. 

In the past few weeks I have made a concerted effort to exercise and get back into running. I have never been a Lululemon model or even someone fit enough to work at Sports Authority but I ran consistently, took a yoga class a couple times a week and upped my classes at a local cycling studio right before the Raptor cheerfully announced her imminent arrival by sucking all available energy from my being. I slacked off while pregnant. I did some prenatal yoga (aka fat girl stretching) and some lovely early fall walks but nothing to my prenatal fitness level. I was growing a person! It's exhausting! And foolishly I thought my body would remember what it looked like and after a few weeks would return to it's perfectly fine state. 

Yes I realize that was incredibly naive. 

Yes I know that is not how it works.  

No I am not Gisele or any other famous person. 

I just didn't think it would be so hard. This isn't my body. This weird flabby shell belongs to someone else. Excuse me Nature? You must be mistaken. This isng what I ordered. I ordered the bounce back program? The one where I take yoga classes with the Raptor and take gorgeous selfies while perfecting downward dog. YOU MESSED UP MY ORDER. 

Yes yes yes three months out, takes a least nine to go back BLAH BLAH BLAH. I mean I added a soul to this world; a sweet, sassy, smiley, squirmy soul - and this is the thanks I get? Physics has never been my friend. But now it's deliberately messing with me by showing me Facebook posts such as:

"I'm back to my pre-pregnancy pants!" Two weeks after delivery? LIES. 

"Look at my abs!" 

*Insert photo of size 2 washboard at 4 weeks post-partum.* 

Bullshit. Photoshop. 

Am I wrong to expect that Physics treat us all equally? It's not like gravity decides that you get to be excused from its pull while the rest of us remain weighted down to the Earth. 

People gave Kim Kardashian such shit for gaining real-people weight while pregnant and then more shit for hiding out towards the end because people brutally insulted her. And then came the outcry after she decided not to show herself until about 8 weeks post-North. I'm no Kim K fan; I think she's gorgeous and useless like a Lladro figurine or a Judith Leiber purse and I'm glad Physics decided she should bow down like the rest of us mere mortals (I am vain and mean. Get used to it.) However I'm relieved I don't have to do it in the public eye. Seeing friends for dinner in maternity pants is humiliating enough. But does the public need to beat up a woman who's emotionally fragile after giving birth? Because she can't see what her body has become, everyone needs to remind her that she's a flabby, saggy version of herself? 

Thank God Gisele didn't mar her perfect abs or show her body immediately post birth before she signed herself over to Satan (apparently that's how you avoid Physics). Then we wouldn't have these expectations of how our bodies will immediately bounce back. And I wouldn't be fighting with Physics. 

How did you get your body back? Did you let it go until you were ready? Did you move into the gym? 

What? Who? When?

Content around these parts had been pretty bleak. In all honestly, it's probably because all my posts would sound the same: 

Raptor crying! Raptor not sleeping! MiT's boobs hurt! RaptorDad no home! 

Rinse and repeat. 

See? I don't want to bore anyone with the same post over and over. 

Last week I finally realized the extent of my baby brain. RaptorDad and I decided to have a date night. We have an unbelievable nanny who not only takes the Raptor during the day, she happily works into the night so we can have some grown up time every once in a while. 

Off we went to a dinner filled with wine, calories, gluten and dairy. No matter how much I want to stick to my Paleo diet I relapse more often than not. And on a date night? Yeah I AM HAVING THAT MILKSHAKE. 

Post-milkshake we hopped in the car and I checked my voice mail. My dear friend left me this message: "Hi MiT! I figured since I am going to be in town tomorrow we should probably touch base!" And I thought oh how adorable! She thinks she's flying in tomorrow! It's actually the following Friday I explained to RaptorDad. And since she was meeting another friend at the airport, I chuckled as I checked both their itineraries certain that March 28th would pop up on their itineraries. 

It didn't. 

SHIT.

SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT

Why yes, the well-rested adults who wear actual clothes with zippers and buttons were correct. Their arrival date was March 21st. NOT the 28th. And here I was all gluttonous with a dirty house and as unrested as Gwenyth Paltrow on set. I whispered: "She's right. They both arrive tomorrow." RaptorDad's incredulous look stopped me in my tracks, his annoyance clear as day on his face. 

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

These new mom memory lapses extend to forgetting to transfer money into our joint account resulting in an overdraft - a complete NO NO in RaptorDad's eyes - to now forgetting that my friends are coming into town. 

Obviously, everything turned out fine. These are my oldest and dearest friends; they don't care that I haven't done laundry in 2 days (with a 10 week old that's a long time) or cleaned 

ANYTHING in a few weeks. And as embarrassed as I was about my lack of house cleaning, I couldn't shake the clear annoyance on RaptorDad's face or the fact that my day job requires me to REMEMBER things.

I need to put everything on a calendar and write everything down. And then remember where I wrote them down. Last night I added something to the list in my head and forgot by the time I made it into my room to write it down. 

How do you remember things? Can you hold it in your head? Post-its? Strings around your finger?

Who the what?!

I finally got this Raptor to sleep. It been 6 weeks if crying, pooping, sleeping and boobing. ALLL the boobing. Look I have been shitty about posting. I mean I sucked at it before so your expectations really shouldn't be very high. 

Here's the skinny: 

She sleeps at night. Not continuously but in 2-3 hr stretches. 

She loves a bath.

She'll take any bottle you give her because as long as there's milk on the other end lunchbox is all in. 

Just before 6 weeks she started for real smiling - all gummy smiles and bright eyes. Natures way of ensuring that we don't find the first handy cliff and drop her off it. Oh you think I'm being extreme? How about rocket-like poop all over you, your carpet and your screaming baby at 230AM? Or persistent, nonstop screaming/crying for about 8hrs? Or two count them TWO blowout poops before 1PM? Yeah those sweet smiles and chunky cheeks saved her today. 

Ah there are her sweet dulcet tones. Post over.