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.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Monday, July 21, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
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.
I think it's trying to tell me something.
Friday, May 16, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Yes. I am so vain.
RaptorDad: You ok?
MiT: *whimpers* No
RaptorDad: What's wrong?
MiT: so. out. of. shape.
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?
Monday, March 31, 2014
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?
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
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.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Day is Night or Night is Day?
I started a post a few days before the arrival of the Raptor going on and on about being terrified and what if this and what if that blah blah anxiety. And of course, I don't finish nary a damn thing it's still sitting in the drafts folder. I know! Go get your surprised face.
And yes this little Raptor completely owns us - well her and my boobs. SLAVE TO THE BOOB! BOW BITCHES. But my boobs are really her lackey so the hierarchy looks like:
RAPTOR
Boobs
Laundry
Medela
MiT & RaptorDad
Let's jump to number 4 on that list - the Medela Breast Pump. It's my new best friend. Well frenemy really because while I get immediate relief when using, the maintenance is a bitch - washing, sterilizing, pumping, washing, rinsing, pumping. My boobs have their own zip code and they are policed by the teeny Raptor and the Medela.
RaptorDad loves loves loves them. Not that he gets to touch but oh is he excited by them! I show my boobs to more people than Girls Gone Wild only I don't get to go to NOLA or Vegas or have tequila shots to lube me up. That's some bullshit. Whenever people walk into my house I announce the amount of boobage showing or holler a forewarning that while contained they will be out soon enough wreaking all sorts of leaking havoc and the ensuing WOMP WOMP WOMP of the Medela sirens are nigh.
Truth be told, while breast feeding hasn't been hard per se I am not much of a fan. Granted it's been two weeks and we had some latching issues, but overall it's been...fine. I should probably hang in there and really not worry about it until I get on some sort of schedule but oh LORD my life with no schedule - AAAAAHHHHHHHH. Everything is all topsy-turvy and wibbly-wobbly. This is normal right, RIGHT?! Sigh. I'm tired.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
The Raptor
She's lovely.
All rosy pink with dark hair
Yes, her scales are gorgeous.
Stats:
7lbs
20"
Born at 1:46P on 1/10/14
Fun facts:
Csections hurt
Spinal blocks are awesome
Night nurses always suck
Speaking of night, RaptorDad and I have no sense of it. Or day. Or time really. It's been 4 days. The raptor owns us. It's humiliating and not a little terrifying.
Post ideas have been lowered to Tweet ideas and only about 1/4 of those make it through. I'm so swollen that the iPhone keyboard makes my sub-par writing look like English as my third language after Klingon and Swahili. Not even Apple can give me the ego boost I desperately need.
Please excuse the lack of posting but enjoy the Tweeting! When I get around to it...if they're in English!
Yeah. Ok. It's bad. I'll just be over there leaking and bowing to my new master.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Community Support
I tweeted about this earlier and then really just left it alone. And now at 34 weeks pregnant, sufficiently annoyed by pants, shoes and anything that requires bending over I am in full on GFY mode.
Here's a bit of background: I hate forums. HATE THEM. For several reasons which I will now list and people will either argue with or ignore. Don't care.
1) PEOPLE SPELL SHIT WRONG. All the time.
"It seams like..." Seams? like SEWING SEAMS? Those are actual things.
"Dissappointed" - Wait - were you appointed to a position of some sort then dissed? That must be what you mean!
This makes me crazy. Most internet browsers will tell you when something is spelled wrong. And for people who find homonyms confusing I invite them to repeat 9th grade.
2) Everything ends in LOL - especially if it has no punctuation.
"all my bras don't fit I started off as a double G lol"
Are you boobs laughing? Are they laughing out loud because your bras don't fit? FIND ME A COMMA DAMMIT.
3) People have nothing else to do.
Here's a bit of background: I hate forums. HATE THEM. For several reasons which I will now list and people will either argue with or ignore. Don't care.
1) PEOPLE SPELL SHIT WRONG. All the time.
"It seams like..." Seams? like SEWING SEAMS? Those are actual things.
"Dissappointed" - Wait - were you appointed to a position of some sort then dissed? That must be what you mean!
This makes me crazy. Most internet browsers will tell you when something is spelled wrong. And for people who find homonyms confusing I invite them to repeat 9th grade.
2) Everything ends in LOL - especially if it has no punctuation.
"all my bras don't fit I started off as a double G lol"
Are you boobs laughing? Are they laughing out loud because your bras don't fit? FIND ME A COMMA DAMMIT.
3) People have nothing else to do.
CAVEAT: Pregnancy forums have plenty of people on bed rest so I get that - you do nothing day in and day out. Talking to people online is a good way to keep yourself sane. NOTED.
Here are some fun questions:
"Why is it so dead here today?"
"No one has heard from mrsjennisbabymama"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU READ THE FAQs?"
OK look. I get that there's a forum etiquette. Totally get that and really most, if not all, of my random pregnancy Google searches link me directly to several forums that I don't participate in often, if at all. Working in the digital industry I know Google works something like this:
You: "FIND ME THIS"
Goggle: "OK HERE ARE ALL THE THINGS I HAVE FOUND FOR YOU! The ones at the top say this shit the most. I did it in about -.124379603471 seconds because I am better at the internet."
You: All hail the great oracle Google.
This last one bothers me the most. I am very very lucky to be surrounded by friends with toddlers and babies who remember the pregnant days, the first few weeks, etc. Some are on their second pregnancy and most are quick to answer any question/panic I have. And thank God for them as I have made the "ummmm is this normal?!" phone call about poop, pain, hair, skin and husbands. But I know there are people that don't have a community to go to. Maybe they're the first having children of all their friends or their mom isn't present. Frankly, my mom barely remembers anything and what she does remember is a bit obsolete. She'll say that as well. Whatever the reasons people come to forums such as The Bump or What To Expect to vent and ask questions; what they don't come for is belittling or assholery. So when someone posts a question about insurance or breast feeding and is immediately told in the tone of posted already jackass to search the other threads, I get a little heated. And then people who have spent their lives on these forums building signatures and coming up with adorable little lingo (DD: dear daughter or DS: dear son) make "sticky posts" that say shit like NEWBIES: Please read and This What a Non-Repeat Post Looks Like! Only you know, shit's spelled wrong and there's arguments like "we've been friends for EIGHT WHOLE MONTHS and have been talking about this 4EVA" and I get a whole lot of heated. And then maybe, I say something. Or maybe I don't because fighting with people is useless and so frustrating. Plus that's what I use this blog for - venting about stupid people.
Here are some fun questions:
"Why is it so dead here today?"
"No one has heard from mrsjennisbabymama"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU READ THE FAQs?"
OK look. I get that there's a forum etiquette. Totally get that and really most, if not all, of my random pregnancy Google searches link me directly to several forums that I don't participate in often, if at all. Working in the digital industry I know Google works something like this:
You: "FIND ME THIS"
Goggle: "OK HERE ARE ALL THE THINGS I HAVE FOUND FOR YOU! The ones at the top say this shit the most. I did it in about -.124379603471 seconds because I am better at the internet."
You: All hail the great oracle Google.
This last one bothers me the most. I am very very lucky to be surrounded by friends with toddlers and babies who remember the pregnant days, the first few weeks, etc. Some are on their second pregnancy and most are quick to answer any question/panic I have. And thank God for them as I have made the "ummmm is this normal?!" phone call about poop, pain, hair, skin and husbands. But I know there are people that don't have a community to go to. Maybe they're the first having children of all their friends or their mom isn't present. Frankly, my mom barely remembers anything and what she does remember is a bit obsolete. She'll say that as well. Whatever the reasons people come to forums such as The Bump or What To Expect to vent and ask questions; what they don't come for is belittling or assholery. So when someone posts a question about insurance or breast feeding and is immediately told in the tone of posted already jackass to search the other threads, I get a little heated. And then people who have spent their lives on these forums building signatures and coming up with adorable little lingo (DD: dear daughter or DS: dear son) make "sticky posts" that say shit like NEWBIES: Please read and This What a Non-Repeat Post Looks Like! Only you know, shit's spelled wrong and there's arguments like "we've been friends for EIGHT WHOLE MONTHS and have been talking about this 4EVA" and I get a whole lot of heated. And then maybe, I say something. Or maybe I don't because fighting with people is useless and so frustrating. Plus that's what I use this blog for - venting about stupid people.
Does this bug anyone else? Are forums as irritating to everyone else or is it just me?
Monday, November 25, 2013
A Most Disconcerting Event
Before anyone loses it:
1) I am fine
2) Raptor is fine
In fact, we're all doing peachy. RaptorDad begins a new job today - one that will challenge him AND give him three weeks paternity leave! Woo Hoo for amazing insurance and benefits!
Friday, on my way to the job I have slowly grown to loathe, a very nice man rear-ended me. Stop. Wait. Please see above.
Everyone calm now? Great. He drives an Acura Sedan and I drive a Honda Pilot. The sedan plead no contest and racked up ~$5K in damages. The Pilot brushed off its shoulders gangsta style and soldiered on. No airbag went off. The seatbelt was on and really he took one look at 8 mos of Raptor growth and most likely shit his pants.
However, my darling husband came running the moment I texted and urged me to call the doctor. Raptor spent a good part of the morning using my ribs/lungs as a punching bag - evidently unscathed - however I acquiesced.
I left a message on my way to purgatory; the nurse immediately called back and all but ordered my ass into the doctors office. They ushered me in right away (when does that happen?!) and strapped me to a monitor. Guys this is not how I wanted to spend my Friday. After 25 min of marking Raptor movements and general roundhouses to my kidneys, the doc was all get thee to L&D! Because any sort of "trauma" requires at least FOUR HOURS OF MONITORING. That's right. Hospital gown, hospital bed, nurses, IVs - ALL THE THINGS.
Then came a cervical exam - those are decidedly not fun. Unfun. Completely devoid of all enjoyment/comfort. And then the medical powers-that-be decided I should have an ultrasound! Joy! Rapture! We get to see the Raptor. And right then and there I knew ... our surprise was about to be ruined. Because even though I told the tech we didn't know the gender and didn't want to know the gender, some small part of my brain just knew she was going to spill it. Look, the Raptor is running out of room and the tech was doing her job checking for any placental ruptures, fluid leaking, anatomy, etc. Never mind the Raptor spent 20 minutes practicing a cross-jab on the heart monitor or that three nurses spent the better part of the afternoon staring at my vag chasing the little shit around trying to get an accurate heartbeat reading, we had to have an ultrasound. So while telling us that the Raptor had hiccups, the fluid and placenta looked fine she moseyed over to the naughty bits and RaptorDad saw. He saw and knew. Thankfully I wasn't paying attention and then she said it, " Baby ____ is doing just fine." I turned slowly and just looked at her, more bewildered than angry and quietly said, "You just told us what we were having." Poor woman felt so bad, apologized profusely and swore she had never done that before. Nothing like being the first! Alright RaptorReaders - do you want to know? Not want to know? I am giving you the choice since apparently ours was taken from us!!! (Oh the melodrama!)
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Things on my bathroom floor...
RaptorDad will need to pick up.
1 Makeup Removal Cotton Pad
Makeup Sponges
1 Distorted Bobby Pin
1 Full Travel-Size Shower Gel
Length of time on said floor: Unknown
Chances if me picking these up: 0%
Thursday, November 14, 2013
And another thing...
Last night I thought for a moment that we are having an incredibly rhythmic raptor - then I realized it was just the hiccups. Hiccups in my belly. Raptor got super-annoyed so there would be a hiccup and then a giant knee-roll into my organs. Another hiccup? Another roll - this time to my ribs.
Pregnancy is amazingly fucking creepy.
Pregnancy is amazingly fucking creepy.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Things!
I've been staring at this cursor for a few days now. I explained to Dills recently that I open up this page and have nothing to say. And bless her, she's so good at posting - even the small things - her epic quest for a rug or learning about possum cleaning. See? She's interesting and funny. And now I want to write a whole post about her!
OK. OK. Back to selfish, big ol' me. I am 30 weeks pregnant guys and I should probably be freaking out. Only I am not even though I have 9 weeks left of being childless. So now I am starting to freak out about not freaking out which really means that I will have a MASSIVE freakout right after the baby comes and I have no idea what to do.
Good things:
- Daddy Raptor built the crib from IKEA and the daybed from IKEA so our nursery is coming together! Honestly, that man has endless patience with teeny tiny pieces and no word instructions. He's going to be ACES as a dad. He claims its from years of Legos and building models. Friendly tip single ladies - MARRY A GEEK! They looove to build shit and you get out of dealing it. Unless you love it then marry someone who hates it. Seriously though he would tighten a screw, the plank would fall over and he would just pick it up and do it again. After this happened five times I took my leave. Apparently sitting in the rocker and watching him NOT get frustrated pushed me over the edge. Don't you wish you were married to me?
- Three Baby Showers. GUYS THREE BABY SHOWERS. I have so many things. SO. MANY. THINGS. And I still need more things! Like a stroller! And a car seat! And a baby! So the nursery mentioned above is a bit in shambles. Bags everywhere. Adorable baby art to be hung. Teeny socks to be washed. Thank You cards waiting to be written. THINGS! Yes yes yes yes ... Good things. AMAZING THINGS. Like the mustache paci from our cousins Amy, Jen & Carrie - clearly in the boy camp. Or the gorgeous little owl in our nursery colors from my friend Mel who MADE IT. Like with her own two hands. To make no mention of my friend Meesh who handmade a blanket and two bibs - IN ONE DAY. My people are awesome.
- People keep telling me I carry this pregnancy well. I have been handing out $5 bills to keep the compliments coming.
Bad Things:
- People are lying about me carrying this pregnancy well. I think it has to do with the $5. My over-sized sweatpants are tiiiiiight.
- Sleeping and the lack therof.
- Working and the abundance thereof. Shit's been going down at work y'all. It ain't cute.
- Freaking out over not freaking out.
- Vag punches that also result in the occasional lung kick. Yeah that happens.
OK. OK. Back to selfish, big ol' me. I am 30 weeks pregnant guys and I should probably be freaking out. Only I am not even though I have 9 weeks left of being childless. So now I am starting to freak out about not freaking out which really means that I will have a MASSIVE freakout right after the baby comes and I have no idea what to do.
Good things:
- Daddy Raptor built the crib from IKEA and the daybed from IKEA so our nursery is coming together! Honestly, that man has endless patience with teeny tiny pieces and no word instructions. He's going to be ACES as a dad. He claims its from years of Legos and building models. Friendly tip single ladies - MARRY A GEEK! They looove to build shit and you get out of dealing it. Unless you love it then marry someone who hates it. Seriously though he would tighten a screw, the plank would fall over and he would just pick it up and do it again. After this happened five times I took my leave. Apparently sitting in the rocker and watching him NOT get frustrated pushed me over the edge. Don't you wish you were married to me?
- Three Baby Showers. GUYS THREE BABY SHOWERS. I have so many things. SO. MANY. THINGS. And I still need more things! Like a stroller! And a car seat! And a baby! So the nursery mentioned above is a bit in shambles. Bags everywhere. Adorable baby art to be hung. Teeny socks to be washed. Thank You cards waiting to be written. THINGS! Yes yes yes yes ... Good things. AMAZING THINGS. Like the mustache paci from our cousins Amy, Jen & Carrie - clearly in the boy camp. Or the gorgeous little owl in our nursery colors from my friend Mel who MADE IT. Like with her own two hands. To make no mention of my friend Meesh who handmade a blanket and two bibs - IN ONE DAY. My people are awesome.
- People keep telling me I carry this pregnancy well. I have been handing out $5 bills to keep the compliments coming.
Bad Things:
- People are lying about me carrying this pregnancy well. I think it has to do with the $5. My over-sized sweatpants are tiiiiiight.
- Sleeping and the lack therof.
- Working and the abundance thereof. Shit's been going down at work y'all. It ain't cute.
- Freaking out over not freaking out.
- Vag punches that also result in the occasional lung kick. Yeah that happens.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
How to Explain My Stupidity - Video
This is me. Every. Single. Day. Flying abilities and suit of armor not included.
Yesterday, I asked my husband to turn off the windows.
Earlier I asked my HR person to give me the total number of labors.
The day before after purchasing a painting stick thingamajig for the Hubs I asked if he liked that he can change the colors. I meant the lengths of said painting thingamabob.
Cranberry.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Things You Shouldn't Say to a Pregnant Woman
Everyone has one of these. But this alllll happened today.
Stressing about my outfit:
Me (wearing an orange shirt and black boots): "Do I look like a pumpkin?"
Boss: "Um...a variation of one."
On guessing the sex of the baby:
Finance Woman (after expressing how LARGE she was while pregnant with her daughter):
"Well I would say you're having a girl?"
Me: "Why?"
FW: "Well your hips are MUCH bigger since you've gotten pregnant."
On Halloween:
Halloween Planner Person: "Let's do a haunted yellow brick road!"
Me: "Oh that sounds cool."
HPP: "You get to be the witch."
Fuck you Tuesday. FUCK YOU.
Stressing about my outfit:
Me (wearing an orange shirt and black boots): "Do I look like a pumpkin?"
Boss: "Um...a variation of one."
On guessing the sex of the baby:
Finance Woman (after expressing how LARGE she was while pregnant with her daughter):
"Well I would say you're having a girl?"
Me: "Why?"
FW: "Well your hips are MUCH bigger since you've gotten pregnant."
On Halloween:
Halloween Planner Person: "Let's do a haunted yellow brick road!"
Me: "Oh that sounds cool."
HPP: "You get to be the witch."
Fuck you Tuesday. FUCK YOU.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Pain in the Butt
Starting Tuesday I've had these random shooting muscle pains in my butt. Since I possess the sassy-sounding swayback, a nifty little upswing around the tailbone, my low back has always been an asshole. But this random shooting pain feels slightly different.
TO THE INTERNETS!
And here is where I learned that I basically have back pain because I exist.
"Even more pregnant women have posterior pelvic pain, which is felt lower on your body than lumbar pain. You may feel it deep inside the buttocks, on one or both sides or the back of your thighs. It may be triggered by activities such as walking, climbing stairs, getting in and out of a tub or a low chair, rolling over in bed, or twisting and lifting.Positions in which you're bent at the waist – such as sitting in a chair and leaning forward while working at a desk – may make posterior pelvic pain worse."
- thebabycenter.com
Looks like it's triggered by:
Walking
Sitting
Getting in and out of your car
Getting in and out of bed
Working
Bathing
I exist and therefore I have deep butt pain. Thank God for you medical brainiacs!
And the treatment is just as clear and easy to follow:
Stand more!
Sit more!
Walk more!
Use Hot!
Use Cold!
#firstworldpreggoproblems
Absentia
All apologies for my absence. I began a post that surely would have been hilarious; only when I went o finish it a few weeks later I discovered that I forgot the purpose of said post. It was about the nursery and how the room is so hot. See? Gut-busting funny.
Here's the rundown on the goings-on in the past few weeks.
Here's the rundown on the goings-on in the past few weeks.
- I went to Mexico. No not hey-you-lost-your-head-Mexico but Holy-crap-I-may-live-here-forever-Mexico. Then I decided maybe major surgery in Mexico isn't the best idea regardless of the dual citizenship benefit. I got a tan, had a couple Dos Equis and never drank tap water. Thus? Never pooped my pants. Awesome.
- If one more person tells me JUST WAIT when I refer to: not sleeping, feeling large, having a waddle or insert pregnancy malady here, i am going to punch them in the face. Consider yourselves warned. I AM LIVING IN THE MOMENT PEOPLE.
- I wish I could have someone hold the raptor for a minute. Literally just say "hey can you hold this? I am going for a quick run and I will be right back - 30 min tops." And I would come back because all this shit is a miracle and amazing but I miss running. I also miss walking up stairs without getting winded.
- The raptor moves like a Capoeira dancer/fighter - all rolls and kicks and random side-to-side movements. Where's the FLUTTER I was promised?! No flutter, just vag punches.
- Today the doctor told me I wear pregnancy well. I almost kissed his feet and while I suspect he says that to all the patients he performs C-sections on, I will take it as he owes me no compliment of the sort and assured me he doesn't say it to people who don't wear it well. I am believing him.
- If my mother asks me one more question about the shower, I am having her relocate it to McDonalds. GET THE FUCKING MINI-QUICHES. Order nuggets from Chik-fil-A. Get a platter from Publix. I really don't give a shit. Last night she called me to say that she may have gotten the wrong patter of animals for the theme. The theme I didn't choose so much as decide to register for and blurted Giraffe! when asked. Now it's a jungle theme and she got Lion King AND OMG IT DOESN'T MATCH. Guys, I want to see some people, be belly-accosted by Cubans, eat cake and open presents. That's all. It doesn't need a theme. Throw up some streamers in yellow and white and call that shit a day. *sigh* I AM grateful; Stop judging me.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Let's Discuss
I know. I should post more but other than feeling like a beached whale with digestive problems I really don't have a whole lot going on preggo-wise. Basically, I will now complain. What? I haven't been complaining ENOUGH for your liking?!? Well this is you're LUCKY FUCKIN' DAY. As always these complaints are couched in the fact that they're totally first world problems and not real complaints; I couldn't be happier to be pregnant.
Dear Paige Denim: I understand that you're considered the best of the best. I love that I found some of your jeans on Zulily at a not-ridiculous price and they are indeed quite comfy. However, may we discuss for a moment the tag at the belly seam? Hey, I get it - you want to be different and put that tag somewhere else. Like maybe I want to show off the size of my jeans and not have to show my butt crack? Or maybe one has SO MANY jeans that they have to check who exactly made these overpriced legs of denim, let's make it easy for to whip out that tag and show it off. And when you're a non-pregnant size 26 (not never ever will be me) that's cute. Oh excuse my teeny waist and rock hard abs, while I look to see who made my jeans. Oh look! It's Paige! See how adorable this insignificant pocket is next to my tag? That's just in case I want to melt my lipstick by smooshing it against my non-existent love handle.
*Wow. That was a hell of a tangent - apologies y'all*
My point here is - a tag on a belly seam in MATERNITY jeans is fucking dumb. We're already itchy - we're like ALL GET OUT itchy. Seams in the maternity jeans already toe the line of comfort - too high, too low - so please 'splain to me the idea of adding them to maternity jeans.
Don't worry; I'll wait.
Did anyone else splurge on maternity jeans and find them lacking? I mean I am all for my sassy Joe's Jeans non-preggo but dropping $200 on jeans I will just wear for a few months seems silly. Now if someone wants to purchase some for me then please by all means shop away. Maybe it's being of "Advanced Maternal Age" that makes me all cranky about it but as much as I would love to drop a cool $100 on some cardigan The Goop says is all the pregnancy rage I think getting a pedicure and lunch with a friend is a much better use of money.
Secondly can we just discuss this?
Oh Zulily. Zulily, Zulily, Zulily. Where do I begin? First I know many a breastfeeding mom and never have they said to me, "You know what I love to do? Put on my makeup, a jazzy necklace, sparkly earrings and a ball gown; find the closest Laundr-O-Mat and whip out my boob to feed my baby." Because CLEARLY that's what this photo is implying. I implore nay BEG those of you who look at this and think "well that's my TUESDAY!" to please call me. I think we need to discuss what the hell you are doing with your day and how I can become part of that club.
This photo linked to a sale on maternity lingerie which is personally not my thing but I can absolutely see how women out there feel sexier thanks to the big boobs and hormonal fluctuations. I see no issue with maternity lingerie per se however I do think this picture sets women up for a completely unrealistic sense of post-natal life. And now after Googling it I see that unrealistic expectation via media is clearly par for the course (DUH). Would you all remind me to take a picture of myself in February so we can be a bit more realistic than this utter nonsense? Because you know I will forget. And you know I am not putting on a fucking ball gown especially if they're adding some tags to the middle.
Dear Paige Denim: I understand that you're considered the best of the best. I love that I found some of your jeans on Zulily at a not-ridiculous price and they are indeed quite comfy. However, may we discuss for a moment the tag at the belly seam? Hey, I get it - you want to be different and put that tag somewhere else. Like maybe I want to show off the size of my jeans and not have to show my butt crack? Or maybe one has SO MANY jeans that they have to check who exactly made these overpriced legs of denim, let's make it easy for to whip out that tag and show it off. And when you're a non-pregnant size 26 (not never ever will be me) that's cute. Oh excuse my teeny waist and rock hard abs, while I look to see who made my jeans. Oh look! It's Paige! See how adorable this insignificant pocket is next to my tag? That's just in case I want to melt my lipstick by smooshing it against my non-existent love handle.
*Wow. That was a hell of a tangent - apologies y'all*
My point here is - a tag on a belly seam in MATERNITY jeans is fucking dumb. We're already itchy - we're like ALL GET OUT itchy. Seams in the maternity jeans already toe the line of comfort - too high, too low - so please 'splain to me the idea of adding them to maternity jeans.
Don't worry; I'll wait.
Did anyone else splurge on maternity jeans and find them lacking? I mean I am all for my sassy Joe's Jeans non-preggo but dropping $200 on jeans I will just wear for a few months seems silly. Now if someone wants to purchase some for me then please by all means shop away. Maybe it's being of "Advanced Maternal Age" that makes me all cranky about it but as much as I would love to drop a cool $100 on some cardigan The Goop says is all the pregnancy rage I think getting a pedicure and lunch with a friend is a much better use of money.
Secondly can we just discuss this?
Oh Zulily. Zulily, Zulily, Zulily. Where do I begin? First I know many a breastfeeding mom and never have they said to me, "You know what I love to do? Put on my makeup, a jazzy necklace, sparkly earrings and a ball gown; find the closest Laundr-O-Mat and whip out my boob to feed my baby." Because CLEARLY that's what this photo is implying. I implore nay BEG those of you who look at this and think "well that's my TUESDAY!" to please call me. I think we need to discuss what the hell you are doing with your day and how I can become part of that club.
This photo linked to a sale on maternity lingerie which is personally not my thing but I can absolutely see how women out there feel sexier thanks to the big boobs and hormonal fluctuations. I see no issue with maternity lingerie per se however I do think this picture sets women up for a completely unrealistic sense of post-natal life. And now after Googling it I see that unrealistic expectation via media is clearly par for the course (DUH). Would you all remind me to take a picture of myself in February so we can be a bit more realistic than this utter nonsense? Because you know I will forget. And you know I am not putting on a fucking ball gown especially if they're adding some tags to the middle.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Things Better Left Unsaid
This week in YOUR BABY IS GOING TO DIE NEWS. No fewer than three people have told me horror stories about someone they know (friend-of-a-friend, neighbor, coworker) losing their unborn child at 5 months, 7 months, 39 weeks. With the really awesome clarification of "No one knows why!" "They don't know what happened."
Wow. Thanks.
The best part was every single time said storyteller would say "I shouldn't be telling you this" and then continued to horrify me with stories.
Friends, countrymen, asshats - please don't tell horror stories to first-time pregos. We are all too aware that shit happens, complications arise and that life can really be a fucking dick sometimes. But hearing it and instinctively going to the "Please please please don't let that happen to me" place in your mind IS NOT GOOD FOR THE BABY. Or the Mom. Or the Husband/Partner that has to talk to his significant other off the ledge of I AM GOING TO KILL OUR BABY.
We're bombarded with don't eat bacon! don't drink wine! don't eat deli meat! don't sleep on your back! And a whole host of other don'ts that are often presented as YOU WILL HAVE A BROKEN BABY IF YOU DO THIS. Look, none of us wants a broken baby or a sick baby or a baby with hooves - unless the father is a centaur. And trust me when I tell you that simple things like rolling over on your stomach in the middle of the night, an errant piece of bleu cheese, the meat sweats all trigger the ohmygod-will-my-baby-grow-up-to-be-miley-cyrus-now reaction. And I think we can all agree - no one wants to feel that way. So thank you for keeping your dead baby stories to yourself.
And pass the bacon... that shit is delicious.
Wow. Thanks.
The best part was every single time said storyteller would say "I shouldn't be telling you this" and then continued to horrify me with stories.
Friends, countrymen, asshats - please don't tell horror stories to first-time pregos. We are all too aware that shit happens, complications arise and that life can really be a fucking dick sometimes. But hearing it and instinctively going to the "Please please please don't let that happen to me" place in your mind IS NOT GOOD FOR THE BABY. Or the Mom. Or the Husband/Partner that has to talk to his significant other off the ledge of I AM GOING TO KILL OUR BABY.
We're bombarded with don't eat bacon! don't drink wine! don't eat deli meat! don't sleep on your back! And a whole host of other don'ts that are often presented as YOU WILL HAVE A BROKEN BABY IF YOU DO THIS. Look, none of us wants a broken baby or a sick baby or a baby with hooves - unless the father is a centaur. And trust me when I tell you that simple things like rolling over on your stomach in the middle of the night, an errant piece of bleu cheese, the meat sweats all trigger the ohmygod-will-my-baby-grow-up-to-be-miley-cyrus-now reaction. And I think we can all agree - no one wants to feel that way. So thank you for keeping your dead baby stories to yourself.
And pass the bacon... that shit is delicious.
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