Lily's First Birthday!!

I'm a Faucet Again!!

At Lily's 6 month appt, we discovered that she had only gained 11 oz in two months! I was suspecting that I had some milk supply issues, so I needed to do something about it.

I went what I thought was the easiest route and ate 1-1/2 cups of oatmeal per day for the last month in order to boost my boobie milk supply. But, now I think I would rather get every one of my teeth pulled out than to ever look at that mushy stuff again.

So, it's time to go with something a little more potent: fenugreek. Fenugreek is an herb that they (I have no idea who 'they' are) put in capsules and will apparently boost my milk supply. The bottle also says it helps with digestion. Not sure sure how those are related, but whatever.

I took two pills yesterday and this morning I woke up with boobie milk all over my nightgown, all over my bed, all over the walls, the floor, and the ceiling (ok, that's a bit much). So, it was a success!! I'm going to take Lily back to the doc in a couple of weeks and hopefully she will have gained some weight. Maybe I could just give her some of my extra weight. I've got plenty.

Push-Ups Kick My Ass

Apparently, push-ups are good to help you with any problem area (including flabby stomach, dimply butt, and spaghetti arms), because this is the only move that's included in every damn workout DVD out there!

But, I actually like that push-ups are included on every DVD because it means that there is at least one chance every DVD where I get to walk into the kitchen and pour myself a nice cold glass of water (or vodka) without having to hit the stop button on my DVD player.

Why don't I do the push-ups? In 5 simple words:

Because They Kick My Ass.

Simple as that. I'm no hero. I'm not doing this to show off. I don't want to do a faceplant into my carpet. Seriously, there has GOT to be another exercise that can help me get rid of the wiggly jiggly under my arm. Really.

And while I'm on the topic of exercises that suck: Plank exercises. I was first introduced to these beauties on my Wii Fit. In no way is my body ever supposed to be in this position:


unless I'm lying with my back flat on the ground. In the snow. About to make a snow angel. Who thought of this?

Linux!

So, my husband finally wore me down! I (well, he) installed linux on my computer today. No more microsoft. No more bloated programs that run my hard drive too much (at least that what my live-in computer wizard says). No more internet explorer (firefox only now!). And, in installing this new browser, I realized that in firefox, my header on my front page looks all wonky. I'll have to add that to my to-do list, I suppose.

Weightloss Update!

Well, no results yet. But, really, who are we kidding, I'm not getting in a bikini for this summer anyways. So, my real goal is to eat right, exercise often and just generally stay active. I have been doing pretty well at this!

So, I know it's probably cheesy, but I've been using workout videos to do my exercising. Who doesn't love Denise Austin, right? Also, I got a Momma and Baby Yoga DVD that's awesome, and I can do it with Lily, so it's perfect for anyone whose baby never sleeps!

As far as eating right, this has been more of a challenge for me this time around. I almost constantly feel hungry. I don't know if it's because of me breastfeeding or what, but it's been hard to not just snack all the time. But, I have plenty of healthy stuff in the house, so I'm trying to stick to that stuff- lots of fruits and veggies mostly.

Right now, Lily's napping, so I'm going to join Denise Austin in a little step aerobics!

Ok, Here's the Deal....

I've been cheating on you. I have been slacking on this blog not because I have fallen off the face of the earth, or been eaten by a martian or beamed up by scotty, but because, I've been busy with another blog! Boooo me! If you're trying to throw eggs at me because of this news, know that I'm a good ducker.

So, now that I've revealed my double life as a double blogger, let me explain.

One night while trolling around online, I found a site where people make goals to do -----(blank)---- in 100 days. This gave me the brilliant (albeit, not original) idea to set a weight loss goal to be accomplished in 100 days (more on that in a later post). And then blog about it.

OK, now that I'm starting to tell the truth, here's another one for you: It's hard trying to be funny all the time. Since I've started this blog, I've tried hard to make people laugh. Every post has been extremely real, from my life, but I try to tell it in a funny way. This has caused me to leave out some super fun stuff (mostly minute details of my life).

So, in an effort to merge several lives into one (my weight loss blog and this blog AND my non-funny life with my funny one), I'm going to start posting everything here!!! Whoo Hooo!

I might even change the look of my site to go with my new content. And given the countless hours my husband and I worked to get this site looking like it does, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that news! (We'll just let him read about it on my blog)

Here is my DISCLAIMER regarding my site now:

- Every post will NOT be funny
- Every post will continue to be real
- Some posts may be so real, that you'll be bored to tears
- I don't care if you are bored to tears, I'm gonna write what I want!

"But wait, Katy", you say after reading my disclaimer, "your blog is not funny now". Well, screeeeew you!

So, to make a short story long, be on the lookout for lots of new posts, funny and not. There will be some about weight loss, still some about poop, and one funny one about how my darling daughter looks like a 60-yr old prostitute (pic included)...

Why I LOVE HATE LOVE Co-Sleeping

1. My nipples can now stretch from my side of the bed to San Diego (and now that I'm no longer living in California, that's really far away). This will really come in handy for when she's old enough to jump rope.


2. I get to sleep with one leg dangling off my bed. Try it, you just might like it.



3. She often gets a Lazy Latch. Which is great, if I want my nipple to be shaped like lipstick. And I totally do.



4. I have two states of sleep: warm and cozy heavenly sleep; OR, more commonly: fitful, baby's-pushing-me-off-the-bed sleep.


5. She does have better morning breath than my husband.


6. Being kicked and punched by my 6-month old in my sleep makes me have dreams that I'm fighting Jackie Chan. At least in my dream, I'm winning.


7. 3am diaper blow-outs are now considered 'family bonding time'.


8. We get to put all her baby furniture on craigslist and rent her room to a boarder.


9. CHOOSE ONE: I get to look forward to her upcoming crib transition OR I get to have a pajama party with my daughter every night for 18 years.


10. I am no longer the only one to wake up in a puddle of my own breastmilk {serves her right}.


11. When I lay down at night I get to lay on one side. And play a game where I try not to move for the entire night. This is great because even if I never fall asleep, at least my arm and leg get to.


12. I get to have one breast smaller than the other because I'm just to lazy to make her switch sides in the middle of the night.


13. I get to sleep in this position. It's very comfortable:



14. Friends and family get to give me all kinds of unsolicited advice, then shake their head at me when I write posts like this.


15. And, my REAL reason I LOVE to co-sleep: Every night she sleeps in one of two positions:

- Either hugging my breast, or

- Using it as a pillow :)

(I would include a photo, but I promised my mom no more internet nudity)

Thursday Twenty-Note to Self

It's the Thursday Twenty: (20 words or less).

Note to self:

No more letting Lily chew on the shopping cart.

She has her first cold. :(

WW: See...See...She IS a Genius!

Lily turned 6 months old on Monday!

I LOVE My Cloth Diapers!

Ok, for all of you regular readers (your check is in the mail), you know that we have....um, how should I say it...poop problems. Especially since starting Lily on solids- Geez Louise, it's horrendous. Not only is my poor little sweet thing all stopped up, when she finally does go, it's like a monsoon- except with poop, not water.

So, on the wonderful http://www.wholesomebabyfood.com/ (do I get paid if I plug them?), I found the quick 'recipe' for making plums for Lily. Plums, as you all probably know, but I didn't have a clue, are just the non-dried version of prunes. So, in other words, THEY'LL MAKE YOU GO!

We've now been feeding our sweetheart plums everyday for about a week and a half, with some success (success = poop). Well, the past couple of days have been a huge success (huge success = huge poop). Which is great and all, but I have to admit I was growing fond of only changing pee diapers.

So, as Lily and I were about to walk out the door to pick daddy up from work the other day, she had "success" (poop- well, I'm sure you get it by now). A little irritated that it happened as we were walking out, but elated that it happened at all, I call my dear hubby and tell him we'll be a few seconds late. "Seconds", because, how long can it really take to change a diaper, right?

Well, by some shear coincidence she happened to be in a disposible diaper (can't even remember why she wasn't in cloth now), and it was a disaster! Total disaster! Like, really really bad.

Up her back.

Down her legs.

On her hands.

And, eventually, in MY hair (I didn't find this out until on my way to pick up dear husband and ran my fingers through my hair only to find a bit of poo..., uh, "success" in it).

So, what was the point of this post...oh, yeh... cloth diapers...

The very next day, another "success" which was great not only because she'd "succeeded" two days in a row, but because she was wearing cloth and it ALL STAYED IN THE DIAPER. Cloth rules!

Now, I have to go clean a mud puddle out of my precious baby's cloth....

I'll Be Back...

Well, my desperate quest for sleep has gotten the better of me. I'm taking a blog break this week (oh, come on, even a world-famous blogger like myself needs a vacation every now and then). I know you probably feel like this right now:



But, don't despair! I'll be back next week with more hilarity. Including more stories about poop and actual video evidence proving that my baby IS a genius (for all you nay-sayers!).

I'm Almost a Billionaire!

Ok, as both of my regular readers have probably noticed, I recently started featuring a couple of small ads on my blog. I did this as a starting point for my billion-dollar blogging enterprise (don't worry, it'll happen). Now, I know nothing about SEO (search engine optimization) or anything else that I should know about when wanting to make a billion dollars blogging, but I have to say I'm more than a little taken aback by some of the ads that google is displaying on my site.

Some are very pertinent: CafeMoms, Colic Calm, and Gerber Baby food are all appropriately placed on my site. However, there are a few ads that I look at and just have to stratch my head:

Be Kind to Your Behind bathroom sprayer (ad was complete with two claymation figures sitting on the toilet).

Grand Chase anime something-or-other.

"This is not a dog, so don't train her like one. To learn how to live with children, click here." Photo of a little girl sitting in a doghouse. As if this isn't funny enough, this ad is usually featured in my "We Cuss at our Baby" post.

Gabriel Method of losing weight (how did they know I needed this???).

Pre-clinical AMD tox research (no clue what that means).

Countless singles dating sites (including a single Muslim marriage service-something I'm sure all my readers will use).

"Is your kid cute" beauty contest, featuring a young girl picking her nose (I guess because they say they are "picking" winners soon, or something like that).

Some Zombie movie that I've never heard of (this one actually makes sense, because it was next to my Zombie Chicken award post).

So, anyways, after looking at my ad account, I find that I have only $999,999,999.72 left to go in my billion dollar blogging enterprise. ALMOST THERE- I CAN'T WAIT!

Wordless Wednesday: I EAT IT MOMMA!

I Should Have Listened to My Husband

I will preface this post by saying that my husband is an extremely competent, caring and involved father. There is one thing; however, that he makes very clear: he is not good at changing diapers. Well, I usually dismiss this as him just not wanting to change them, and I make him change diapers anyways. But, as you will soon learn, I should have listened to my husband on this one.

If you regularly read my posts (and I thank both of you that do), you know that I have two problems (well, more than two, but, whatever):

1. Lily doesn't like it when I'm in the shower.

2. And she has poo problems.

So, ever since Lily decided that she liked to scream while I took a shower, I've been showering early in the morning so my husband can take care of the baby. This has been working great, until this morning.

I stepped out of the shower to hear a knock on the door. Dripping wet, I said, "come in..." knowing, of course, it was my husband.

He asked, "Can I get in there? I have poop all over me."

"Well, why didn't you just use the toilet?" I asked.

Finding no humor in my joke, he walked past me and stepped right in the shower. Apparently my little sweetheart had a big 'ole blowout all over daddy's chest. hahaha

Ok, no biggie for me. Baby's happily playing in bed with her stuffed animals, I'll do a quick 2-second-mommy-get-dressed and get Lily ready to take Rob to work.

Upon closer inspection of my little sweetie pie; however, I noticed she has the distinct evidence of yellow-peanut-butter consistency poo smeared on her cheek. Then I found some on her thigh, and all down her leg. And on her foot.

Ok. Guess I'll clean up the baby.

So, I clean her up, and give her the stuffed animals back to play with, only to realize that they also have the distinct evidence of yellow-peanut-butter consistency poo smeared all over them (see below for slightly inappropriate poo picture). Geez.



So I cleaned up the stuffed animals and went downstairs to toss them in the wash, where I found Rob's blanket all bawled up with her nighttime onesie full of poo. Ok, tossed those in the wash, too.

I headed back upstairs, no longer dripping wet, because it had been a good 20 minutes since I stepped out of the shower, only to see that my pillow case, indeed, was also poo-covered.

Ok, honey, lesson learned. You are not good at changing poo diapers and you no longer have to do it. :)

I Suck at Laundry!

AGH~ Just opened my dryer (full of laundry that's been sitting there for two days, but that's another story) and EVERYTHING is faded and rough-feeling! Some of my favorite stuff was in there!!

What happened, you ask? Well, I've been on an Oxyclean kick, and thought that since it worked so well for my cloth diapers, that I should add it to every load (JUST LIKE IT SAYS ON THE OXYCLEAN CONTAINER!) And, now, here's the result:

*waving my white flag* I give up, I'm going back to bed.

A Little More About Me

I've been re-thinking my About Me section to the right and thought that it really doesn't express a lot about me truly. So, I decided to start a list:

I try to eat healthy (a couple of times a year).

I love it when Lily smiles when she poos.

I used to make my bed when company came over, but now I just close the door.

I hate to cap the toothpaste or squeeze it from the bottom.

I feel self-conscious when I buy junk food at the grocery store (but it doesn't stop me).

I cry when I watch videos from when Lily was a newborn.

I refuse to eat the butts of the bread. This annoys my husband to no end.

I'm a googling addict.

I give Lily, like, 500 kisses a day. I hope she never tells me that it's too many.

I secretly hope that someday people will describe me as "taking 'something' by storm". I have yet to find what the 'something' will be.

I love radishes.

I often post things on my blog in spite of my inner critic.

I divulge all my secrets to my 5-month old.

I still haven't lost all my baby weight.

Before I was a mom, I was a preschool director.

I miss my baby when she naps for longer than an hour.

I am a comment junkie, so comment away!

I just got super excited when I found out that my recycling place accepts #1 and #2 plastics. And almost everything is #1 or #2.

I laugh at and with my husband in equal amounts.

I have a love/hate relationship with the following things:
-TV
-Walmart
-Breastfeeding
-Neighbors
-Saving money
-Rain
-Clothes shopping

I get annoyed when people are clueless at 4-way stops.

I never want to work outside of my home again.

I fall more in love with my baby every day.

Some people might say that I smile too much.

I collect dust bunnies in every corner of my house. I'm running out of names for them all.

My daughter is the only person who appreciates my singing.

My teeth haven't seen a dentist in waaaay too many years.

There were only 4 guests at my wedding. It took place 2000 miles away from my home.

I spy on my neighbors.

Two things I will not write about on my blog: politics and religion.

I'll do anything to make Lily laugh.

I can be extremely organized when I want to be. I never want to be.

I hope that people enjoy reading my blog as much as I enjoy writing it.

It's the Thursday Twenty-She's Gifted! She's Gifted!

Big entertainment in a small package (20 words or less).

Ok- this is more than 20 words, but it's my site and I can do what I want:

Today I was playing with Lily and someone tooted (I won't divulge who) and she laughed! Twice! 5 months and she already knows that farts are funny!

Wordless Wednesday: You Sit WHERE?

I Did 40 Things This Month

Here's my April list of 40 things I've done this month
(this is a lot harder to do than it looks):

Changed a diaper (duh, I changed probably 200).

Ate, probably, 40 pounds of chocolate (That's all? You ask. Well, I'm trying to lose the baby weight.)

Cut my baby's nails (like, once).

Played 'eat the piggies' with the baby.

Took Lily to the park for her first time.


Cussed at my baby.

Watched Oprah, Dr. Phil and Ellen on the same day (that's actually three things!)

Put my baby to sleep (over 240 times if you count her night wakings!).

Nursed Lily (close to 300 times).

Drove to Michigan (from Ohio, no big feat).

Grew a wisdom tooth (yes, I am thirty and have my first wisdom tooth coming in).

Carried Lily in my Moby.

Cleaned my house (like, once).

Found this guy and laughed my butt off (you better come back to my site after you click here!)

Did the dishes.

Made a Manwich Garden Taco Salad. Ate it all. Yum Yum Yum.

Stripped my diapers (once).

Ordered two books on amazon.

Read some books with Lily (eek...not nearly as many as I should have).

Written several website posts.

Did laundry (probably 45 loads).

Cooked baked spaghetti.

Bought a stroller.

Made BLTs.

Watched my husband make beer.

Received unsolicited parenting advice.

Started my website empire with this one little 'ole blog.

I wore a skirt! I can't believe it, but I did it!

Went to the used baby store and bought some fantastic toys for 3.50 each!

Had insomnia. Again.

Listened to Lily's sleepy-time song on repeat probably over 1000 times.

Made an EarthTainer (Ok, my husband made it, but the baby and I watched and you better come back to my site after you click here!).

Started Lily on solids.

Started sleeping in 3 and 4 hour stretches (we are really celebrating this one!)

Bought a Ladies Home Journal...

Read every article...

Realized I was old.

Who is That Handsome Devil?

As one might assume, everyone who reads my blog on a regular basis has breasts. That was true, until yesterday when this handsome devil started following me. Do I have a stalker, you ask? Nope, a husband. I heart him.

Baby Poop Retraction: I Take it ALL Back!

One glorious thing about having a blog is that everyone can read your thoughts, your feelings, your fears, etc etc etc. One of the worst? Everyone can read your thoughts, your feelings, your fears.


A short time ago, I posted a smug account of poop. About how everyone says that breastmilk poop does not stink. In it, I unabashedly recounted the horrible stinkiness in my daughter's own breastfed diapers.



Well, we recently started solids. And, coincidentally or not, she then went 5 days without a poop. 5 days. Imagine if you went 5 days. She was typically a 2-3 poops a day kind of girl until solids.


And, let me just say, oh my goodness! I would give ANYTHING for the sweet buttermilk smell of breastfed poop again. I am waving my white flag. Please be kind. I take it all back.

I Bellydance in the Shower

Some people sing in the shower. Some people talk to themselves or think to themselves or just get right to the business of taking a shower. I, on the other hand, bellydance in the shower. I say this not to provide you with yet another disturbing image of motherhood, there are enough of those already (have you read my Poop posts?). I say this because this is, yet again, a drastic departure from my former, pre-baby self.

A few months ago, taking a shower was all about speed and efficiency. Lily would just be laying around or quietly playing in her bouncy seat on the other side of the shower curtain. And I knew that I had to go FAST. She could usually last about 6 1/2 minutes before her waterworks would start. I look back on those days with fondness, now.

Seeing all the different, wonderful stages that babies go through is an amazing experience. One of my most favorite transformations in Lily so far is how amazingly aware she is. She notices everything. She notices when Daddy walks in the room. Or when someone is talking to her in the grocery store. She watches the tv as we pass by it. She notices everything.

Probably the most life changing part of her newfound awareness is that she notices when she cannot see me. I walk out of the room, she looks around, cries within seconds. It wouldn't matter if Daddy was holding her or if the boogeyman was. She'd cry.

This includes when she cannot see me in the shower. Here's the routine:

Sit Lily in her bouncy seat
Turn on the water
Get in the shower
Close curtain only half way
Start talking to Lily immediately (this works for about 20 seconds)
Start singing to Lily ('you are my sunshine...'-about another 20 seconds)
Wave my hand out of the shower curtain, usually while making some silly noises (yup, 20 seconds)

By this point, I know what I must do. I step out from under the shower head, look at Lily, wave my arms in the air, and dance, dance dance. I do bellydances, hula dances, ra-cha-cha- dances (my husband's favorite). She smiles. She laughs.

I then step back under the shower head and she cries again. We start over. Amazingly, even with all this rigamoral, I still manage to keep my showers under 7 minutes.

After contemplating this present shower dilemma, I consulted my good friend, google and found this device:

A Water Mesh Sling

It's a mesh, waterproof baby sling that allows you to wear your baby while you shower. The description even says that it is appropriate to use in the pool, at the beach or in the shower. Huh. I have a couple of thoughts about this.

1. How will I wash my belly, breasts and neck?

2. Isn't this akin to drowning my baby? How would I even rinse my hair without soaking her?

You all know I am a baby wearer. I LOVE wearing Lily. To the grocery store. Around the house. Going for a walk. But, in the shower? Huh. Interesting idea, but, I just don't think I get it. Any showering baby wearers out there? I'd love to hear about the logistics of this one.

Sweet Potatoes or Ear Wax?

About a hour after a particularly rambuctious joust involving me, my 5-month old and a bowl of sweet potatoes, I noticed something orange sitting on Lily's ear lobe. Obviously, this must be sweet potato, right? Well, given my daughter's propensity to secrete extraordinary amounts of ear wax, I cannot assume sweet potato.

So, I take my finger and pick it off her lobe and inspect it more closely. It was sweet potato, I think. Now, enter the dilemma. I was sitting comfortably on the couch with my sweet Lily Pie, exhausted after a hard day of...what is it I do? And, just do NOT want to get up to throw away whatever this hunk of crap is.

I look at it again. Surely, if it's sweet potato, I could just give it to her, right? Maybe she knew it was there all along and was just saving it for later? Well, believe me when I say that I thought for more than a few seconds about the possibility of just lopping it into her mouth. But, in the end, I went the longest route. The least disgusting route. In the garbage it went.

It's the Thursday Twenty- Swamp Butt

Big entertainment in a small package (20 words or less)


When Lily has a nasty, dirty diaper,

we affectionately call her "Swamp Butt".

I Got a Zombie Chicken!!

A Zombie Chicken! A Zombie Chicken! I received this very special award from Sweet Words. Thank you! Thank you!

I am flabbergasted! I am astounded! I am beside myself! I am speechless (as if that could happen)! I am stunned! But, mostly I am honored!

Zombie Chicken Award reads:

"The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all…

I have awarded a Zombie Chicken to:

http://babyboogers.blogspot.com/

http://divascancook.blogspot.com/

http://parentingbydummies.blogspot.com/

http://spiritedmotha.blogspot.com/

http://pinkinahouseofblues.blogspot.com/

Come and get it! Congratulations to the winners!

Wordless Wednesday: Do I HAVE To?

By Popular Demand...

By popular demand, here is a copy of my cleaning schedule that I never once followed but had a great time making. See So, I Made a Cleaning Schedule.

The Sucky Part of Mommyhood

Why is it that whenever moms talk about the sucky stuff of being a mommy they just kind of laugh it off or gloss over it? Like, when talking to a pregnant momma, they say things like, "Going to the movies, that'll be over with soon! Ha ha ha" or "Ha ha ha, I didn't sleep for two years straight! Ha ha ha!" or "She's on the boob 24 hours a day! Ha ha ha!"

When I was pregnant and heard comments like that, I laughed right along with them. And, I knew having a baby would be hard, but, for some, stupid reason I was under the impression that I would be able to just laugh about it at the time it was occuring. Like, "Ha ha ha, Precious Little Lily, you've been crying for 3 hours straight! Ha ha ha!"

Yeh, then reality hit in the form of a 9-lb boobie monster. It SUCKS being up at 4am with a crying baby. It SUCKS nursing until you have a dream that your nipples fell off (yes, I had a dream they fell off in the bathtub). It SUCKS when all you want to do is sleep more than a 3-hour stretch. It just SUCKS. And it especially SUCKS when all this continues for days, weeks and months on end with no real break.

I'm not saying that Mommyhood isn't rewarding and wonderful and fun and all that. But why can't mommies just be real with eachother? Mommyhood is hard. Really hard. And mommies often pretend like it's not.

I think all of us mommies have to agree that we will talk about it. We won't pretend to be Super Mommies. We'll ask for help. Or for an ear. Or a shoulder. Or for a muzzle for our babes. I'll go first: I love my babe, but sometimes, Mommyhood sucks.

No One Hollers for a Momma

After purchasing a stroller and having a not-so-successful jaunt to the mall with it, I decided maybe Lily would enjoy taking it outside on a walk. It was a beautiful spring day. The weather had finally warmed up and there was no rain in sight. People were outside everywhere. Cars had their music blasting, windows rolled down.

It was the kind of day where a cute girl might just get hollered at by a group of testosterone-filled guys passing in a car. You all know what I'm talking about. A little whistle. A little "woo-hoo" or "look at that lovely lady" or something similar or even more vulgar.

Sure, you can say how offended you are whenever a guy hoots at you while you're walking. But I know you would rather that he did than he didn't. It doesn't hurt to know that someone's lookin'.

There was a time, not so long ago when I was that girl. What is it, guys? You no longer find my puke-encrusted billowy blouse sexy? The crop jogging pants just not doing it for you? You don't like the extra 10 pounds of fab baby flab? Whatever. This is the best I've looked in weeks. Heck, months, if I'm being honest. No less than 5 carloads full of testosteroney guys passed and not even one would waste their breath to whistle for a momma.

Anyways, let's talk about the really important part of this post: Lily didn't cry once on our walk!

So I Bought a Stroller

Since Lily has been born, it has always been an issue about how to carry her when we're in public. She hates her car seat, so the travel system is out. She was obviously not strong enough to sit up in a grocery cart, yet. And because holding her was like carrying a floppy sack of potatoes, we knew that wouldn't do. So, since she was born, I've pretty much always carried her in the Moby wrap. I love my Moby! It's easy to put on (despite what it looks like in the instructions) and she can be right there, below my head, all the time.

Now that she's 5 months and has better head and back control, I thought it would be nice to buy a stroller to go for walks at the park. Given my little one's propensity to despise anything that is confining, has straps, or isn't called Momma, I knew I needed to choose carefully. And by that, I mean, I went cheap. After all, I knew that there was a good chance that it would never leave the garage.

For our first stroller outing, I decided we'd go to the mall. It was such an appealing thought, with its smooth marble floors and convenient ramps. First, let me say, if you ever want to find every stay-at-home mom in the same place at the same time, go to the mall on a weekday morning! I could not believe how many moms were walking with their little ones in tote.

So, how did our Lily Pie do? Well, it's an interesting phenomenon the first time someone else sees your baby cry before you do. But, that's what the stroller brings. Of course, I could not see her. And, for some reason she was not making noise. But, after passing two women who said, 'aww, poor thing' while looking at me with disdain, I stopped the stroller and looked at my little girl's face to see a pouty lip and a single tear running down her cheek. Talk about breaking your heart!

By the end of our little mall walk, I would say that I passed probably 30 moms with baby strollers, and I was the only mom with the diaper bag in the stroller and the baby in my arms. I'll just bring the Moby next time.

I Used to Think...

Write for 10 minutes using, "I used to think..." as your starter.

I used to think that "DO NOT PASS" road signs meant that you were not supposed to pass the sign. I thought my dad was crazy for breaking a law that was so clear.

I also used to think that "PASS WITH CARE" road signs meant that you could pass the sign but only if you cared a whole lot about something, although I wasn't sure what. So, each time we passed by this sign, I would hold my hands in prayer and look to the sky (I guess to god) and say quietly to myself, "I DO care, I DO care..."

I used to think that I would never get married. I thought this when I was growing up and my sister and I would look through JC Penny's catalogs and write down all the things that we wanted to buy for our house when we grew up. I would always buy things for the kids, but never even considered that there would be a man living in the house or that he might have an opinion.

I used to think that my sister was lying to me about sex. I always thought that there was no way people would do something that disgusting. I realized she was telling the truth one day when her good friend, who will remain nameless (because I can't remember his name), brought over a porno video in a large white video case that read "hard core". Huh, I guess people actually do that.

I used to think that god would answer my every wish. I guess I thought he was a genie, not a deity. I prayed one night for a barbie house to appear on my doorstep. I could barely sleep all night, I was so excited for my new barbie house. Oh, the things I could play with that! I woke up early the next day and opened the door to....nothing. It was then that my dad explained to me that if I wished for 10 skirts, god may only give me one, because that was all that I really needed. So, god must have thought that I didn't really need the barbie house. I didn't buy that...I DID need a barbie house.

I used to think that if I said "Bloody Mary" ten times in the mirror at midnight, a scary, bloody lady would appear in the mirror and probably jump out of it and kill me. So, I never said it.

I used to think it was amazing that my mom was never accused of a crime that she didn't commit. It happened so often on TV, I guess she let me watch too many crime dramas. No more Perry Mason, mom!

I used to think that my mom knew it all...we probably all thought that about our moms.

I used to think that even though we fought as kids, my sister and I would be friends as adults. We're not.

I used to think that my best friend's deceased uncle was actually talking to us through her Ouija Board.

I used to think that NPR was for old people. Now I love it.

I See London, I See France...

After witnessing an unfortunate "I see London..." incident on a windy day, I was reminded of how smart I am to make the declaration that I will never wear a skirt. Here are my many reasons for not engaging in this female tradition:

1. Windy days (formerly my #6 reason).

2. If Lily can pull my shirt down to my navel, I can only assume she could pull a skirt up to it.

3. It gets cold here in Ohio and I don't think jeans under a skirt are cute when you're 30.

4. Bird legs. Not tweety bird legs. Big, meaty chicken drumstick legs.

5. You can't ride a bike in a skirt (this is also on my list of why I never ride a bike)

6. Bruises on my legs. Always. I am not anemic. I am not clumsy. I am not abused. I don't know how this could be, but it is.

7. Upskirt shots. I'm pretty famous and you never know when the paparazzo is right around the corner.

Attachment Parenting Links

Attachment Parenting International
http://www.attachmentparenting.org/

Dr. Sears website
http://www.askdrsears.com/

Attachment Parenting: Canada
http://www.attachmentparenting.ca/

Parenting: Information and interaction for the nurturing parent
http://www.parentingweb.com/

The Natural Child Project
http://www.naturalchild.com/

StorkNet's Attachment Parenting Cubby
http://www.storknet.com/cubbies/attachmentparenting/

MommyThink
http://www.mommythink.com/

Why is There a Sailor Farting in our Bedroom?

Every morning between 3-5am my sweet little baby girl raises her chunky little baby legs in the air and just lets it rip. I'm not talking about a cute little toot here and there, I'm talking about sailor farts. Nasty, big man farts. And they smell. Because I don't want you to vomit all over your computer, the description will stop there. Your welcome.

My newbie husband and I were foolish enough to believe that this is normal baby behavior. However, one day when discussing baby farts with a friend of his, we were informed otherwise. Walking away red-faced, we decided to do a little research on the matter.

Ok, well no real medical sites pop up when you type "stinky baby farts" into google. No big surprise. There are several forum posts out there that seem to have traced the problem to what I'm eating. It's probably the chocolate. I gave it my all to quit eating chocolate a while ago and it just didn't pan out. I have given up my looks, my breasts and other areas of my body for my baby, I will NOT give up chocolate for her.

A Letter to My Lily-Pie

Dear Lily:

Here I sit. All alone in my bedroom for the first time in almost 5 months. We've come a long way. From those first few nights, your daddy and me taking turns watching you while you slept, while the other one of us caught a few winks.

Then just me and you hauled up in the guest room so daddy could get a little sleep before work. An arrangement we kept for weeks because you just didn't seem to want to be away from momma at all. A time that brings up only positive memories.

Your daddy, whose new role was to take care of me so that I could take care of you, would get me all set up in our spare room. He set up our flashlight, crackers for me to snack on (I was so hungry breastfeeding in those early weeks), the remote control, ice water, breast cream, diapers, wipes, burp rags, sleep positioner, the list goes on and on. He kept me well stocked. Those were the nights that I would sing you to sleep. You Are My Sunshine. Or Amazing Grace- my grandmother's favorite.

It didn't take long for daddy to miss us at night, so we went into our bedroom. You, tucked away in your bassinet and me, huddling on the edge of the bed so I could frequently peek in on you. Daddy often got worried too, and he'd lean over and make sure your chest was moving up and down. To save my voice, we started playing music that would go all night long.

There were several weeks where all we could do to allow you to sleep was to bring you in bed with us. It made daddy nervous. He wanted to make sure you were safe. I wasn't nervous. I could feel you breathing. You slept best while using my breast as your pillow and folding your arm over it claiming it as yours.

And, now, Lily Pie. My bedroom is so empty. The bassinet has been removed, just an empty space now. Our bed is empty. No more diapers or wipes between me and daddy. No more baby toys or blankets or even your glow worm. And the music that I've heard playing every night for months is now unclear, filtered through the baby monitor. Just as your cries will be when you awaken for your first nightfeeding.

But, the time has come, my darling, for you to move to your own space. You're no longer sleeping soundly with us and you're waking up still drowsy. It's been almost three hours since I laid you in your crib. Eyes closed and so peaceful. Daddy already asked twice if I should check on you. But you're okay. Mommy knows. You just need your sleep little girl. I love you.

Love, Mommy

Naked Baby Day!

Poor little teething Lily has been a little on the, uh, cranky side today. So, she's been in my arms (all day) and just had a major blow-out (all over her and me!). So, as I was getting re-dressed, she was naked and laying on a blanket, she was just smiling away! Kicking her legs like she didn't have a care in the world. I have instituted every day as Naked Baby Day!

Let's Talk about Poop

Whoever stated that breastfed poop doesn't stink was a liar, never had children or both. Worse is the claim that it smells like buttermilk. If what's in Lily's diapers smells like buttermilk, I will pass on the buttermilk pancakes next time I'm at IHOP. There's even a popular website that touts odorless poop as a reason to breastfeed. I'm all for trying to convince people to breastfeed, but let's keep it honest.

When I google "breastfed poop smell", it becomes apparent that every baby's breastfed poop smells a little different. Some people describe it as like cream corn, apple cider vinegar, or cinnamon toast. Why all the comparisons with food? That's just nasty, folks.

Then, I came across this article. A 2006 study that required moms to sniff dirty diapers found that moms preferred the smell of their own baby's poops. This was true even when the diapers were purposefully mislabeled. Either moms just get used to their own baby's poo smells or humans have evolved to not be revolted by their own baby's smells so that the smell doesn't interfere with their ability to care for their young.

Interesting. Apparently my nose is broken or I have just not evolved in this respect. I cannot possibly be the only momma that feels this way about their little one's diapers. But, I'm apparently the only one willing to admit it. My little darling's poos don't smell like anything that I ever have eaten. I'm stating it loud and clear. My baby's poop smells like poop. And it stinks. Pass me the gas mask, please, I need to change a diaper.

I'm a Google Addict

I am a google addict about anything and everything. Presently under my recently searched history, I have everything ranging from "Jonestown Massacre" to "what is an exempt employee" But, of course, the main thing going on in my life right now is my baby girl. And google has seen a dramatic increase in searches regarding anything and everything related to parenting. Here's a list of my searches since the last time I cleared my history (about 2 months ago):

all about baby university
ask dr. sears
why breastfeed
attachment parenting
attachment parenting controversy
baby wise
baby wise versus attachment parenting
breastfeeding alcohol
rice cereal allergy
infant reflux maalox
zantac
infant zantac side effects
infant zantac overdose (Lily did not overdose, explanation forthcoming...)
baby gas
acid reflux infant
baby refusing cereal
baby whisperer
baby wise failure to thrive
breastfed poop
breastfed poop smell
breastfeeding research
how to clean baby bottle
how to cut baby's nails
infant birthmark
prevacid
prevacid infant side effects
prevacid gassy baby
when do babies wear shoes
cloth diapers
cloth diaper seconds
how to wash cloth diapers
stripping cloth diapers
cloth diaper detergents
happiest baby on the block
fuzzibunz
bum genius
healthy sleep habits happy child
infant sleep
newborn sleep
my baby doesn't sleep
cry it out
cry it out research
is cry it out harmful
infant sclera
blue sclera
lazy eye infant
take baby temperature
formula
similac
solid food
make your own baby food
wholesome baby food
toys 6 months
infant massage
infant sign language
parenting news
parenting education
parenting boards
parenting forums
parenting resources
parenting links
parenting blog
parenting styles
parenting philosophies
"wonder weeks"

Does your Baby have Manicured Nails?

Mine does. Well, not really. In truth, it's been over a week since her 4-month check-up and therefore over a week since I first cut her nails. Now that I've done it once the expectation would be that I will keep up with it.

But, really, they look so beautiful in this feminine state. They truely do look as if she's had a professional french manicure. The downside of all this baby beauty, however, is that I can count over 20 tiny, nail sized wounds all over my hands, arms and breasts. My husband has at least 1/2 dozen marks on his face alone.

Time to google how to properly do this. Hold the baby's palm in one of your hands and clip with your other (no sh*t). Trim them with a partner. Trim them when she's sleeping-even bringing the clippers in the car so you can trim them while she sleeps in her car seat. This is not a useful tip for a baby that screams in the car. Use your mouth- bite them off (I've done that one). Perhaps the most useful advice I've received came from a friend who suggested sitting her in front of the tv (something I otherwise would not do, but it's something she loves) and clipping them there.

Agh, my stomach aches just thinking about the pain I could inflict on my poor girl.

Hmmm...I'm looking at them now. Beautiful. Maybe I should just accept her in her womanly state and enter her in one of those baby beauty contests. Yup, that's the answer. Now I just have to take her tanning and buy her a set of falsies.

Did those Blue Hairs in the Buick just Pass Me?

So this weekend, the family and I went to Michigan to visit the rest of my family. My Dad still had not met Lily, even though he tried to convince us to come up for Christmas when she was four weeks old. No thanks, Dad, don't really want to drive five hours with a 4-week-old that screams in the car. Now that she's 4 months and is able to hold toys and look around, the car is a much friendlier place. So, anyways, we decided to finally take the plunge.

As I was driving and Rob was trying to calm our crying babe in the backseat, I felt a bit of freedom. The last 4 months of my life have been a drastic departure from the first thirty. I used to do things like stay up til 2 and sleep in til 11. I used to take showers. Daily. And even the occasional bath. And shave my legs. I haven't done any of those things in, well, four months. (Well, okay, I have taken the occasional shower, but I digress). Within the last four months, I haven't been more than 45 minutes from my house and I've only ventured that far because the Babies R Us is that far away. There have been entire 2-week spans where I didn't even leave the house.

So, here we were. On the open road (does a congested freeway qualify as open road?). On a weekday. This was like a real vacation. The sun was shining. It was (almost) warm enough to open the windows and feel the wind in my hair. I was in heaven. Well, my version of heaven. This was very reminiscent of what Rob and I used to do pre-baby. Travel throughout the state visiting various family members. Cranking up the stereo (well, NPR), having some of the best conversations we ever have. And, even though the kid was sometimes crying and we had to listen to #7 on the Chocolat soundtrack to try and prevent this, this still brought back perfectly lovely memories.

During this great reminiscence, I must have entered sort of a highway fugue, because the next thing I knew, somewhere between Uniopolis and Maumee, I looked to my left, and there they were. Two blue hairs (and I mean that with the upmost respect for the elderly), probably 80-years old, were passing me in their Buick. Out loud I said, "Did those blue hairs in the Buick just pass me?" I checked my speed, and upon seeing this significantly smaller number than I used to drive, realized that yet another thing has changed since the baby. I now have this incredible sense of responsibility. To keep her safe. To do the right thing. Just like I've given up listening to NPR in exchange for her music. And taking vacations whenever I want. And even taking showers. So I've sacrificed a little freedom. Not even a sacrifice, just a change, I suppose. An evolution. An improvement in myself, even. A sense of purpose and responsibility and loss of selfishness.

But now I'm just rambling. Trying to figure out how this whole baby thing has really changed me. And it has, for the better, I think. For now I'll leave it at that.

Why I Didn't Cut my Baby's Nails for Four Months

This is not an exaggeration. I literally could not bring myself to come anywhere near my daughter with nail clippers until her 4-month well baby check-up. It's not that her nails didn't grow. They grew. And grew. Often, just as one was getting long enough to need cutting, it would snag on something and I would breathe a sigh of relief and tear the rest off. Sometimes I'd place her little hand in my mouth and try to bite the darn things off. Sometimes this worked. Sometimes I was more worried about doing this than using clippers because I couldn't see where her nail ended and hand began when it was in my mouth.

So, instead of taking the plunge and cutting her nails, I let her walk around (well, lay around) for four months with long nails and cuts all over her face. Poor thing. Finally, at four months we were going to see a new doctor, and my fear of what he would think got to me. So I opened up her rarely-used first aid kit (see, You Put the Thermometer WHERE?) and picked up her nail clippers.

I tried the clippers on my own nails at first, just to see. They were actually much duller than regular nail clippers, which should have eased my mind, but it didn't. So, I sat her in her bumbo in front of the tv and clipped away (thanks Troy for that nugget of advice). They didn't get much shorter, but I clipped a little off. I felt so proud of myself. Little did I know, that once I clipped her nails, they would be sharper than they ever were before and I would end up with little scratches all over my face, hands, and boobs. I still considered it a success.

You Put the Thermometer WHERE?

Ok, I never actually had to ask that question. I knew where the thermometer went way before I even thought about having children. I just never envisioned that I would be the one that put it 'there'.

So, one night after Lily received her first round of vaccinations and she was screaming her head off, I told Rob to get the vaseline. Since he would never do something that required him to have such nimble fingers, I determined that I would just have to take one for the team. I had Rob shine a flashlight near her bum just to make sure I was getting in right. As he held her legs up, I put vaseline on the tip of the thermometer and gently push it in just a little.

Whoever made an infant tush thermometer that took three minutes to take a damn temp obviously didn't have children. She squirmed and squirmed and it fell out and I tried again. In trying again, I was concerned that I was pushing it in more than I was supposed to, so I put my face real close to her bum just to make sure it wasn't in to far. And, of course, that's when it happened. I could see her little tush hole opening up ever so slightly and with it came a burst of wind so foul that I almost fell over laughing and crying all at once.

Moral of the story: when taking a tush temp, get a magnifying glass. It serves well as a visual enhancer and barrier all in one.

Our Dog, Merry

Is how we raise our dog any indication of what kind of parents we'll be? We have a five year old border collie, Merry, that we both love dearly (or, at least my husband does). We've had her since she was 8 weeks old and we were as excited as new parents. She was our baby. Our pride and joy.

This just begs the question, is how we raise our dog any indication of what kinds of parents we'll be? Never mind that we've never been able to keep a plant alive for longer than a day or even a fish alive for longer than a month (even those super-hardy gold fish). But, our precious little pooch has been alive and well for 5 years under our care...not so bad.

Here's a list of things that we've done to ensure her health and happiness:

We praise her for begging for food (at least she's not barking, right?)

Her training leash is on 24/7 (how else could we control her?)

We were always firm on NOT giving her people food, but we let her lick our plates (see #1)

She gets a walk probably about 50 times/year (no wonder she has all this crazy energy).

We lock her in our bedroom for 8 hours a day while we're at work (sorry pooch, we actually do feel bad about this one).

When we first got her, she used to bite our toes. I threatened to throw her out the window. I still do threaten this. Daily.

She scavenges in the garbage regularly.

Her punishment is to be shut into the bathroom.

She walks into the bathroom all by herself when she's been bad.

She likes to chew coins.We give her treats when she chews coins (so she'll let go of them!).

Daddy is definitely her playmate, and I am her caretaker (which may explain why she doesn't get her nails cut, is rarely brushed, and hasn't been bathed in months. She also had tuna breath, which we can't figure out, but keep hoping it will just get better).

She eats her own puke (all dogs do this, right?).

Worst Food Ever

What's the worst food you've ever eaten?

I love strawberries....I mean I really really LOVE strawberries. A couple of years ago when I bit into one of these delicious little fruits and pulled it away from my mouth, chewing my soft, sweet bite, I looked at what was left of the strawberry to my horror. Not only was the inside rotten and black, it contained small, black bugs! I didn't eat another strawberry the rest of that season. Predictably, however, I could not resist when my favorite fruit came back on the market the next year. But still to this day I carefully inspect every strawberry and have a much more tentative bite.

Panic Attack

I hold the door as she walks through, without so much as a thank you and she takes a right, heading for the street. “Where would you like to go? You probably know this neighborhood better than I do.”

“I…um…don’t really know. Whatever you like is fine. I don’t usually eat out of the office. It…uh…doesn’t really matter.” I stammer across my words as I want to kick myself in the ass for saying such a jumbled sentence. The words never can properly come out.

She suggests that we lunch at a local bread shop, claiming that they have the most terrific warm sandwiches. As we walk through the front door, the odor of the coffee immediately fills my nose. I wince with disgust. But this is a place that she enjoys, and I will live with it. I squint my eyes at the bright lights highlighting the day’s bread specials. The smell of coffee and cigarette smoke enters my pores. My head whirls around to avoid inhaling it directly.

I divert my head to the cackling women on their lunch hour, sipping coffee that steams up their glasses. Wearing their power suits, trying not to spill the hot liquid on their dark skirts. Shoes clicking on the hard stone floor. A couple close to the door stand up, their chairs screeching and my ears wince in pain and I close my eyes. As I reopen them, I see the lights. The bright lights are burning into my skin. My heart is pounding in my chest and my breathing barely escapes my mouth. It’s tight. Too tight. My chest cannot take the pounding. The oven beeps, a lady hollers obscenities as she spills coffee on her dress. So many breads, so much to look at. Rows and rows to choose from. Too much to chose from. I spot the menu on the wall behind the cashier. Handwritten in chalk and spreading the length of the wall. Too big, the words are a blur. They swirl in circles around my head just as the coffee steams into my pores. The sound of noisy cashiers ringing up sales then yelling the order like slaves to their customers.

Calmly, in a way that I cannot understand, Maya orders a double latte and a #34 sandwich with extra mustard. My head whirls as I search for the #34. Whatever it is, I should just say the same thing. I cannot concentrate long enough to see the damn menu. It’s swirling in my head and I have to get out. Too loud. Too busy. Too many people. That’s enough. “THAT’S ENOUGH!” Those words were shouted from my mouth. And before I realized that I even said them, the entire café became quiet. The lights seemed dimmer. The noise completely halted. No more cackling. No more screeching chairs. Lots of eyes. Eyes burning a hole in my back, my sides. My hands are shaking and I want to crumble. My heart quickens to a pace that I’m sure will overload it within seconds. My shoulders hunch, I put my hands over my ears and peer at the terrible stone floor as I walk out.

Clowny Puke Incident

I remember the Clowny Puke Incident like it was yesterday. I was only 6 years old and had just started a new kindergarten after my parents divorced. It was my first show-and-tell since my sixth birthday and I knew immediately what I would bring. My Clowny.

My Clowny was wonderful!! He had bright red hair and wore a blue jumpsuit that included an assortment of fasteners: ties, buttons, zippers, snaps and velcro on his suit and shoes.

The day came and I was nervous. There would be a roomful of other kindergarteners staring back at me and they would expect me to talk about my beloved toy. First was Andrew with his favorite picture that he drew of a rainbow. Oh, how I hated Andrew with his perfect, thin-lined rainbows. The only rainbows I could draw had large, clunky lines with too-dark crayon. Diplomatic as I was, however, I smiled and ooohed and ahhed appropriately with the other children. Next, it was my turn.

As I stood up in front of the 25 5-year-olds, Mrs. Wilson smiled at me and my new toy. I explained in a quiet voice that my Uncle Mike got him for me and I named him Clowny. The children were impressed as I snapped every snap and buttoned every button. Then, it happened.

With just one question from my unsuspecting teacher did this memory stick in my mind for more than 20 years. She asked, simply enough, where do you keep Clowny? Proudly, I answered, on the floor in my closet. The children laughed. Mrs. Wilson roared. They were laughing at me. So I threw up. I couldn’t help it and didn’t even see it coming. If I had, I probably would have averted my mouth away from my poor Clowny.

What the Hell is a Shower?

On one of the parenting forums that I belong to, a new mother-to-be asked the question, “Moms always complain that they don't have time to shower when the new baby comes. Is this really true? I have a hard time believing there is not time for even a 4 minute shower?”

Answers to her naïve question came in the form of one of two types. Either moms said they are able to shower everyday or moms said, sure, I could shower everyday or I could choose to eat lunch that day or throw a load of laundry in the wash, etc etc etc. I tend to agree with the latter group.

Sure, taking 4 minutes per day for yourself doesn't seem like it would be that difficult. But, let's look at this more closely. Sure, it may take 4 minutes for the actual shower (if I chose not to use conditioner that day). But what about the prep? What about the aftermath? You can't just leave the baby on the livingroom floor and hop in the shower (the judge said I wasn't allowed to do that anymore). You had to figure out what to do with the baby. Get naked. Take the shower. Then get dressed, brush your hair, and if you were lucky, put on makeup or lotion or both! So, that 4 minute shower just turned into a 15 minute endeavor. Still doesn't seem that bad?

For the first three months, my baby fed every hour. Yes, every single hour. She would eat for only about 15 minutes or so, so that would leave me a whopping 45 minutes to shower, right? Well, not exactly. About 40% of the time she would fall asleep on the boob for about a half hour, sometimes up to two hours. And who am I to mess with a sleeping baby? Ok, have to wait until after the next feeding I guess. At the next feeding, she'd may have to be changed (especially early on as she pooped a lot!). Ok, still have 40 minutes left, right?

Well, if I am coordinated, lucky and have a shower on my mind, I might decide to head right upstairs to take a ---oh, wait. I forgot her bouncy seat. Back downstairs to grab the bouncy seat, and, if I remember, toys to hang on the bar. Baby and bouncy seat in arms (I didn't say, baby in bouncy seat, mind you), I head upstairs. I put the seat in the bathroom. Gotta grab a fresh towel. Phone rings. Or someone's at the door. Or the baby just got tired. Or cried. Or pooped. Again. Or I got tired and decided to just lay down with baby and take a little rest while I wait for the next feeding, and try then. Or, maybe it just isn't worth it. And, really, I don't think she minds if I stink a little.

Help! My Baby's Not Crying!

All babies cry. Some babies cry a lot. While we were still in the hospital, everytime we put Lily down in the bassinet she would cry. We learned very quickly not to put her there. She had us trained good. We literally held her the entire time she was in the hospital. I held her while Rob slept and he held her for the 10 minutes that I slept.

Despite this, she still cried, not a lot, but just enough to let us know she was there. I quickly realized how happy I was the I read “The Happiest Baby on the Block” before I had her. Whenever she'd cry, I put her on her side on my chest, swaddled tight, and gently jiggle her. She'd be out within minutes.

On day three, when we got home, she continued to cry now and then. The next day, however, the crying stopped. She spent more time looking around the room and she slept a lot, of course. Since my husband and I were taking turns sleeping when she would sleep, we really weren't paying attention to the clock when at 3am, Rob says to me, she hasn't really cried much lately, do you think she's okay?

At first I laughed at him. Of course she's fine, you're being silly. Then I got to looking at her. Well, maybe she looks a little lethargic. Do you think she has a fever? Not ready to try out our newly learned thermometer-in-the-butt skills, we called the doctor.

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I couldn't believe I said them. “Hi, we just brought our baby home yesterday, and she used to cry a lot, but now she hasn't cried in a while and I'm worried that she's lethargic.” I must have sounded like an idiot. The very sweet nurse on the other end asked if I was breastfeeding. Oh god, I thought, maybe she's not getting enough milk! I told her yes. She said, “has your milk come in?” I replied that it came in today. She said, “well, she's probably not crying because she's full. She's content.” “Oh,” I said sheepishly with a laugh. Ok, thanks, and I hung up. I turned to my expectant and nervous husband and told him that we're idiots. We just called the hospital because our baby wasn't crying enough. We had a good laugh over it, but I would eat my words as later she would turn out to have a touch of the colic, but at least that night was peaceful.

We Cuss at our Baby

I once sat in a Marriage and Family class in college and the professor showed us a graph of life satisfaction over the lifespan. Generally, people are pretty happy when they get married and that happiness dips significantly when they have young children. Life satisfaction then gradually increases until said children are teenagers, when it dips again. As a naive college student, I was determined that this wouldn't happen to me. Sure, I reasoned, having kids is hard, but they are also a joy, aren't they? Otherwise people would never have a second, or a third, or an eighteenth...

What a fool I was. Sleepless nights. Walking for hours with a crying baby. The worrying when they're sick. Packing like you're taking a long vacation just to go to the store. And I've just gotten started in this parenting gig.

The intention of this site is by no means to give anyone advice on parenting. Good lord- I am by no means qualified for that. However, I have to say that my husband and I have taken a unique, yet effective strategy to ensure our mental health.

We cuss at our baby. Yes, we cuss at her. Dropping the occassional, good-natured F-bomb at a baby does wonders for your mood and your relationship. This seemingly ghastly gesture is so over-the-top that when you're in the midst of baby hell, all you can do is cuss and then laugh about it.

We discovered this little nugget of brilliance when one night, after several nights of a baby that woke every hour to eat or cry or play, we just couldn't take it any more. And my poor, frustrated husband said something about "...this f*cking baby..." and I cracked up. I didn't just laugh- it was an all-out, rolling on the floor laughter. Of course my husband laughed, not able to believe what he'd just said. We both relaxed just a little and got back to the business of calming our little sweetheart.

It even helps the baby. We once were playing an 'eat the piggies game' (where I 'eat' her toes) when she started crying all of a sudden, for no reason that was apparent to me. Frustrated, I held her facing me in my lap and in a calm and playful voice, said, "you're-such-a-pain-in-the-ass!" And I laughed. My husband laughed. It was all we could do. Then Lily stopped crying and laughed along with us. Of course that made us laugh harder, and she followed suit.

I guess my point is not so much about cussing at our baby, but more about laughing over all the crappy crap we have to go through as parents. Yes, billions of people have done this before us. And they all survived the craziness, and we'll survive too. But, somewhere along the way, you have to make a decision. Do you let the crappiness ruin you? Do you let it affect your relationship? Make you unhappy sleepy glob? Of course not. When at your most frustrated, all you can do is laugh. Well, laugh and cuss.

What I Didn't Know...

I made a little list about what I knew about being parent before I became one and what I didn't know:

I knew that I would hate getting parenting advice as much as I do.

I knew I would love my baby more than I could have realized before her.

I knew that whatever we were dealt, we'd be able to handle it. So I never worried about it.

I knew the newborn stage wouldn't be my favorite.

I thought my baby would sleep more.

I thought she would cry less.

I never expected to not feel like a normal person or to not get dressed in the morning.

Or to not put on make-up or shower daily.

I didn't realize how judgmental I had been about moms prior to me becoming a mom.

I didn't realize that I strongly prefer the attachment parenting style over traditional.

I didn't know that a baby could hate her car seat so much.

I didn't know that that would greatly impact where we could feasibly take her.

I didn't know that it's an uncontrollable mommy instinct to want her covered in a blanket whenever she sleeps. Or whenever she isn't wearing pants. Or socks. Or whenever it was less than 72 degrees in the house.

I didn't know that only an hour or two of crying could be a 'good day'.

I didn't know I would feel so alone.

I didn't know that even when Rob and I are both home, I would be the one really responsible for her.

I didn't know I would prefer it that way.

I didn't know she would like my boobs so much.

I didn't know I would rely on my husband to take care of me so much.

I didn't know how protective of her I would feel.

I didn't know how little I would care about things that used to take up so much of my time.

I didn't know that her cry could instantly make me do the same.

I didn't know how annoyed I would feel at my husband for doing something like, coughing, when she was trying to sleep.

I didn't know that there would be days where I would be the only one that could console her. Or play with her. Or hold her for more than 10 minutes.

I didn't know she could consider 30 minutes a good night's sleep.

I didn't know that she would cause me to not want another.

I didn't know how important my mommy friendships would become.

I didn't know how much I would look forward to my weekdays alone with her.

I didn't know I would ever co-sleep. Or use a sleep positioner. Or a blanket in her bassinet.

I didn't know how little the birth experience matters in the long run.

I didn't know I would get a look of 'congratulations on joining the club' from every older woman I pass in the store.

I didn't know how hungry I would be while breastfeeding.

I didn't know it would literally take me all morning to leave the house.

I didn't know I could cry just thinking about how wonderful, beautiful and important she is to me.

So I Made a Cleaning Schedule, Am I Done?

Along with googling, I love to organize, plan and research. And I am a very thorough person. After my in-laws visited, I decided that I actually prefer having a clean house to a messy one. So, I was trying to figure out how it could stay clean the entire week they were here, and yet, the day after they left, was in shambles again.

I quickly realized that while they were here, I would spend a minute here or two minutes there picking up and doing laundry, I decided that this was the solution. Instead of not doing a thing all week and then begrudgingly have a cleaning bonanza when we expected company, I should clean a little here and a little there. Brilliant! But, how would I know what to clean and when to clean it unless I had a schedule? The solution was obvious.

Unfortunately, not only do I love to organize, plan and research, I also have a horrible habit of getting really excited about something, for like, a day, then dropping it. You may reference my several other inactive websites here (thank you to my husband who spent time setting up each website, getting it on our server, explaining to me how to use it, only for me to write nary a post or two).

So, a cleaning schedule it would be. It took me two whole days to create. Sure, this was time that I could have spent cleaning; but, I justified that a schedule would save me weeks, if not months, during my lifespan in not having to scrub 10-day old gunk out of my microwave.

First, I listed every cleaning duty that I ever did, and several that I never attempted. After all, this was a turning point for me, I might as well do it with gusto. Then I determined how often each activity should be done, and adjusted the time to reflect how often I thought I would realistically do it. I wrote out the days of the week, plugged in my duties, and, voila! A cleaning schedule. I couldn't wait to get started the very next Monday (it was Wednesday, but the schedule started on a Monday- it made sense at the time).

Monday came and as I was making my breakfast, baby happily playing in her bumbo, I thought I could get started on my brand new life as a housewife who actually takes care of the house. I opened up the spreadsheet and hit 'print'. Error message. Huh. Let's try it again. 'Print'. Error message! By this time, my eggs were burning and the kid was crying, so I resolved to start my schedule tomorrow. Which, of course was a Tuesday, and I couldn't possibly start following a schedule that starts on a Monday on a Tuesday. That was the end of that.

Ok, not only do I like googling, organizing, planning, and researching, but I like reflecting. In retrospect, I neglected to factor in that for the week my house was clean, my mother-in-law actually did the dishes most nights and that my husband actually cleaned the baby toys off the floor every night while I put the booger-butt down to sleep. This revelation led me to my new strategy: hire a maid.