How Did This Happen?

Somehow the kiddo is three months old. And I am headed back to work Thursday. And I couldn't be happier about it.

Well that isn't true. I wish that I didn't have to commute. Because as much as I am glad to be working again I will really miss the baby. And I am worried that I am going to be exhausted getting up before five every day. But I suppose we will figure it out.

I also feel a little guilty about wanting to go back. This is my deal because I am carefully following my rule of trying not to tell anyone anything. You can't win the whole work vs. stay home debate. Just like you should never tell anyone where your baby sleeps or what she is eating. EVER.

She's working on getting two teeth (yeah I know, at three months). And I am thinking weaning is going to happen when those suckers cut. We're all trying to sort out the new routines. And I am hoping that maybe I will become more interesting. She's a great baby, but I am pretty boring with all diapers and hanging out at home.

Other than that things are quiet around here. My best friend just visited this weekend. We sold some land this weekend. We are just cruising through spring.

I still don't know how the baby can be three months though.

Boring Mom Stuff

I have been sick since we got back from Iowa. I just have the cough left but it is brutal. My whole body hurts from the force of it. Up until two days ago the baby had escaped it, but she is filled to the brim with snot now. FABOO

About an hour ago she lost her mind and begged to go to bed. I wish the girl could talk because, "Mother, I would like to go to sleep now," would be much preferred over face melting screaming and rage. Oh the rage.

I think she is sleeping now. PLEASE LET HER SLEEP FOR A WHILE.

My MIL was supposed to move out today. But her blinds weren't put in. Most of her stuff is in her apartment but she hasn't really moved. I am so excited she is going (she is too so no one feel sorry for her) I think we all need some space.

EIGHT Full Hours

Mo continues to cement her reputation as PERFECT BABY by sleeping eight hours straight last night. She picked the best possible time to do this since I really needed a good night's sleep to finish of this cold/flu/BLACK DEATH of mine (I'm coughing up blood, is that scary to anyone else?).

She did this a couple of times while we were in Iowa (ok once it was seven hours I WILL TAKE IT) and I figured it was from exhaustion. I mean she had been passed around to eight million people and I could see how that would wear a little one out. Now she has done it during a normally day and WOW PLEASE DO THIS EVERY NIGHT.

Monday I had a job interview. LORD. I was so nervous (and had a fever, can you imagine the sweating). I haven't really interviewed for anything outside of my current company in years. This new job is in an industry that I don't know anything about and all I can say is that if they called me tomorrow and made me a great offer I still do not know what I would say. HELPFUL.

Also, as a side note, I totally recommend getting your IUD inserted while you are already sick. That way you do not really care about what is happening. I expected it to hurt a lot more than it did and other than some annoying bleeding it's been no big deal. It was pretty surreal to have some one peering at my vagina and giggle, "oh you are definitely breastfeeding!"

Apparently, your tissues get really thin when you breastfeed. And then she told me all about how this will make sex hurt more and blah blah blah. I am just saying that husbands and boyfriends must just LOVE this woman. Because you know, nothing makes a tired woman want to have sex even more than PAIN.

A Mish Mash

I did feel like a moron in the days leading up to my trip. Because I was really nervous about diapers. As a mom of a two month old baby I should be a pro with diapers but actually . . . I hadn't used a disposable since babysitting about seventeen years ago. And when I pulled one out all I could do was say "dur . . ."

The legs don't look like they will hold anything in at all. And how tight are you supposed to fit them and BAH. I felt like a moron but yeah.

The results were mixed. I did figure them out (not hard I KNOW) and my first instincts were right--those legs don't hold in anything. I have to admit they suck up pee like a mother fucker and if my child only peed I would be all about this. But she shits. A lot. Early and often. And disposables are pretty worthless for that. She had a blow out our first day in Iowa. And then another next day. Fortunately, I ignored J when he mocked me for using the covers from the cloth diapers over the disposables and those held everything in so her clothes weren't destroyed. I have solved the damn mystery of why everyone goes through so many clothes with infants. Their diapers BLOW.

She did sleep like a champ on the trip though, and was dry as a bone (wearing a HUGE INFLATED diaper) when she woke up. I do sort of miss that.

None of this makes up for me having to spend far too long figuring out the damn things in the first place. DAMN.

I had an interview today. Basically my first in five years? And it was strange. It's doing what I do now, but for a totally different industry in a totally different sort of company. I didn't talk as much as I might normally since I woke up with NO VOICE at all. And they seemed to just want to plow through things quickly. I don't know if that is because they liked me or hated me. I have no read on it at all.

Worse. If they called me tomorrow and offered it to me, for the money I want, I do not know what I would say. DUR.

While I was at the interview J had to take Momo to her well baby appointment. WITH SHOTS. I guess she took it like a trooper with a minimum of fuss. Crying for just a couple of minutes. And through the Power of My Breasts she is now average size instead of TEENY. I do acknowledge that the baby MAY have had something to do with that. We are a good team.

She is now passed out with my MIL. Poor little thing.

OR BIG THING since she moved up 30 percentage points on the growth chart.

Miss You All

Behold.

The child and I have returned from the cornfields unharmed.

Well she is unharmed I have a wicked cough and a temperature.

Baby cemented her status of Propaganda Baby (the baby that convinces you that babies are not too much work and OH SO adorable and wouldn't you like to have one/another one?) by making about three peeps on all four flights. And while I earned my parenting merit badge by changing four poopie diapers in the air (including a blow out) she was really about as perfect as she can be.

In the days to come you will read about my first brush with disposable diapers (I am an idiot!), how even the perfect baby cannot handle that many people in a house that is like an oven and how I have a job interview tomorrow (WTF?!?! What do I wear? What the hell am I doing? Is it wrong to go with an ugly cough?).

But for now I am going to lay in my own bed and cry.

Gone Fishing

The baby and I are heading out to Iowa tomorrow and to my parents' house today. This means radio silence here until we get back.

She opened the day by turbo horking on me so I don't think that really bodes well.

This all seemed like a brilliant idea when I was a pregnant but now I just want some one to hold me.

Until next week.

Apparently Not Enough Sleep For Good Writing

The baby slept six hours straight two nights in a row. Now that I have told the internets she will not do it again until she is seventeen years old. But I really enjoyed that baby! I got five hours straight which proves how deeply I have sunk into Mama Stockholm Syndrome because when J told me I needed a nap I was like "But I slept so LONG!"

WTF really.

She gave me her cold though. Sore throat, cruddy nose, one droopy eye. So I can barely enjoy my five hours straight.

We also had baby's first bloody nose today. Closely followed by baby's first bloody towel. I am sure it is the dry air even though I am running the humidifier non-stop. In a couple of days we went from crusty to runny to scabby. LOVELY

By MYSELF

Today I got my hair done.

I went out. By myself. For a couple of hours.

And no one sucked anything from my boobs.

It was pretty awesome.

And, as is my habit, I read US Magazine while waiting for my color to process (sweet JESUS I needed the color no wonder I looked so tired) and can I just say that my baby is way fucking cuter than Nicole Richie's? Yeah, an old issue but STILL. My baby is way damn cuter.

I, however, am not as cute as Nicole Richie. Her whole body weighs the same as my left arm I am sure.

Earlier this week I went to my six week post partum appointment--even though the baby is seven weeks old. Everyone knows that this appointment is so you can be approved to have sex again and so your OB can play with the baby. The baby was passed around gleefully, even with the snuffles, and I was sort of approved to, as Dooce says, "reconvene the procedure."

Sort of meaning sure go ahead, but WAIT don't because I am getting an IUD put in and no sex for a couple of weeks before that. What I love about my OB is that she nicely asked if J would be ok waiting and then laughed her ass off because well not really but tough shit.

People are already asking when we are going to have another. WTF people? And they seem to take our answer of "Um never . . ." as some sort of insult to the baby. No, the baby is delightful. Why mess with delightful? Actually, this decision was not come by lightly and has nothing to do with the actual baby and has everything to do with money and careers and class and Blah Blah BORING SHIT THAT IS NOT YOUR BUSINESS BUT NEITHER IS YOUR ORIGINAL QUESTION ASS. . .

Anyway, seven weeks is a little early to be asking me when I am having another baby.

Yes We Are Still In Our PJs

The baby has a cold. A runny nose, weeping eyed, drooling mess cold. A cold that her father brought home. She's had the crusty nose for a week, fighting back the rest valiantly with the aid of a humidifier and a sunny attitude (where does she get that?) But yesterday she caved in a baby-made-of-rubber-meltdown kind of way. It was a long night.

And it's been a long day. The routine is this: baby awakens in full scream, change diaper, suck snot, nurse for massive amounts of time (not a complaint because she didn't eat so hot yesterday and she needs to), suck snot, talk to baby until she passes out cold in the middle of a giggle, wrap and prop her up in the baby easy chair (Boppy), chug Diet Coke. REPEAT. She is currently doing a cycle in the swing. When she is awake she is THRILLED with the ride and then passes out again. It's benign neglect but I am tired y'all.

Because guess who is getting the cold now?

Silent Partner

Does anyone else find nursing really really boring?

Of course the photos you see show mothers looking down at their babies reverently, all deeply bonding and shit. Mostly I stare off into space all stoned looking (but not stoned) or talk to the baby. Because I did the math and the amount of time I spend with that child latched onto my boob is most of my day. And it is damn dull.

Of course I want her to have the benefits of breast milk. And I have to say that nursing is so much easier (if you are lucky enough to not have any problems) than bottles. No mixing, no toting around stuff, no washing bottles . . .just whip it out. But still. BORING.

J hooked up a DVD player in her room and now I am working my way through every movie we own. We have watched the Disney classics (most alarming, I still remember every damn word of Beauty and the Beast from that year my sister watched it every day), Audrey's best (Breakfast at Tiffany's, Sabrina and My Fair Lady), and the works of Pixar. Also Meg Ryan movies. I am running out of movies because I don't buy many and J's are all Sci Fi or non-AB friendly.

I feel really lucky to have this time with her. And that I can feed her without much trouble. I just wish that she were a little speedier in her eating. Or could hold up her end of the conversation once in a while.

And Valentine's Day Is a Hallmark Holiday?

When, exactly, did St. Patrick's day become a card giving holiday? I understand that certain subcultures in this country really love this holiday (and by subcultures I don't just mean college students looking to get smashed on green beer) but really, do we need to make the kid's gift baskets and send Aunt Edna a card? And since Easter is so early this year Target looks like a holiday vomit-fest.

Easter cards I do understand, at least religious ones (the bunny ones make zero sense), because if you are celebrating a religious Easter well then that is something to celebrate. But WTF with everything else? Baskets sure. But good lord it is more out of hand than Christmas.

My grandmother was traumatized as a child by her dad who wouldn't let her wear green on St. Patrick's Day. She had to wear orange and she was pinched black and blue by the kids at school. So when we were little kids she would crochet little green shamrocks for all the kids in our class. A sweet gesture until you realize that she had six grandchildren (times thirty kids in a class), plus the kids in my mom's homeroom (another thirty) and whomever in my grandfather's office she made them for. . . then you realize that this was a compulsive 250 shamrock a February crafting habit that possibly required treatment. All because she never wanted anyone to get pinched again.

In other words, I hope people enjoy their green beer next week. My grandma can't crochet anymore so she will be worried about all of you.

Like Mommy

When you have a baby you are required by law to have 84,000 conversations about who does she look like and where did she get that adorable nose (what? THERE IS NO LAW?!). We do this as much as anyone else and even include annoying personality traits in the mix.

Mo looks like my daddy, and therefore me. With a round face and big blue eyes (which sadly I do not have) and even the nose a bit. The coloring is all wrong, of course, because her hair is like J's beard all one hundred colors and can't make up it's mind what to look like.

She snores like J. And even flings around a bit in her sleep like him. She hiccups like me (sorry) with full body convulsions. When she is dramatically flinging her binky around I tell her to stop being actressy like her Auntie A (heh). When she babbles it is remarkably like my mother.

I don't know why we feel the need to do this. Maybe it is an urge to claim a piece of the baby, a way to feel connected? Notice I only see my family in her? I hear my mother and law say something about how she looks like J's brother and LORD NO SHE DOESN'T.

The short legs and monkey length arms (making sleepers tragically impossible to fit) are both of our faults though. And we are deeply sorry.

Equations

MIL having a job = fantastic for morale.

Jeans that hold in the sag = fantastic for lack of muffin top.

Lunch with friends and their babies = fantastic for a week finish.

All of this = crappy for blog fodder.

So Dull

J is in the other room reciting most of Return of the Jedi to Mo. It is sort of impossibly cute. He usually takes her for a couple of hours in the morning (they sleep) and then just before bed. I try to leave them alone, but I still wish I could watch it. There is something about a man with a baby. So freakin adorable.

My MIL starts her new job tomorrow. Thank God. I think we are all relieved. And I could definitely use the time alone with the kid. As frustrating as she is sometimes it's easier without some one freaking out every time the kid makes a peep. Babies cry. I am putting that out into the universe as a general rule so that we are clear. So all grandmas and future grandmas, there is no need to wig when the baby cries. It will only piss off her mother. Who thinks you are a lovely person but stop. Please.

Other than that I've got nothing. Lands I am dull these days.

Things Happening

Things that have happened this week that might be interesting to some one (heh,me):

1. The child outgrew my favorite outfits in the newborn sizes. I am aware that other babies outgrow the newborn sizes on their way home from the hospital but my petite flower is supposed to grow and develop normally while still being able to wear her cute-ass outfits like this one (non-pink because it was bought by me on the clearance rack at the Gap--fortunately, I also bought it in the next size up in red).

2. Miss Mo has also started being a cranky bitch from 4-6 every day. Sometimes I can get her to nap through it but really it's all about survival. A normally good natured baby can have a cranky couple of hours and not be held under water by her loving parents. MAYBE.

3. My MIL got a job! With benefits! Relief all the way around!

4. Number 3!!!!

5. I got the shaky chills last night from a fever and generally felt like shit. Tylenol broke the fever but I am a little afraid that it is the flu or some infection. On one hand, please do not let me have the flu and give it to the baby. On the other, please don't let me have infected breasts.

6. My dad did our taxes and we are getting money back. We generally try to break even but shit, I would rather get money than have to pay.

7. My hair has reached epic proportions, so long and not thinning out fast enough. I really need to hack it all off but I am afraid to not have a ponytail option.

8. Help me with this hair!

37th Percentile in the Head HOW CAN THIS BE?

The kiddo will be a month old in a couple of days (or she is already since she was four weeks yesterday). I am not sure how the hell that happened, the getting to be a month old (how is she so old and how the fuck has it only been a month?), but the girl continues to be a wee one. At her Well Baby visit she moved up the growth charts from tee tiny to less tee tiny. An important step but how a child of mine could be so tiny escapes me.

She can coo and ah at you now but mostly it sounds like geese with gastrointestinal problems mating. The doc says she will give up a non-gassy smile any day. My MIL is convinced her every screech is colic and brings the woe multiple times a day. I think she is just fussy--it's hard being a month old.

Babies this age don't do much but she can pull my hair out by the roots, squawk like an uncomfortable water fowl, make wild eyed expressions, grab at the elephant on her gymni really insistently and charm the pants off everyone she meets. Not bad for the tiniest of the tiny.

As Well He Should

Today is J and my seventh wedding anniversary. Our wedding, while imperfect, was really amazing. We never truly wanted one, but I am grateful that we had one. It was simple, and very low key (and cheap!), but there is something incredible about all the people who love you in the world in one place, just wishing you the best.

We agreed to not exchange gifts, or do much to mark the day, since the baby is still so little. J broke the rules and bought me diamond earrings (which technically are a Valentine's/Anniversary/Thanks for popping out the baby gift) and we went out to a great dinner. I was scared to be away from the kiddo that long since I am her only food source. And my fear was rewarded with a HUGE freak out when we got back. She was so worked up about being hungry that she couldn't latch to eat.

But J jumped in and calmed her down and we tag teamed fed and calmed her and got her to bed. In a way that sums up our marriage better than diamonds and dinners. Sometimes things are just a raging hot mess and we run in and fix it whatever way we can--as a team.

Not the most romantic of thoughts, but one that is pretty fucking comforting in day to day marriage.

And since the kid is only a month old and I haven't had the all clear appointment there was no hope for J this was going to end with really sincere fellatio. He must really love me.

And Shall Never Be Again

For the past couple of days the child has been sucking the life out of me. Literally. The baby has wanted to do nothing but nurse and nurse and nurse. She will eat and then hang out for an hour and then want to eat again. She seems to be gaining weight in front of my very eyes. Which is excellent--we definitely want the little bugger to gain weight. However, does she have to eat non-stop all day? Apparently.

I've had to start eating, which is a positive. Because while losing more than thirty pounds in two weeks is awesome, it was mainly water and baby plus accessories. I still need to make sure I lose the last bit in a healthy way.

Sometimes it is easy to forget about the pregnancy--even though it was a freaking long and agonizing--and expect everything to be the way it was. My recovery has been amazing. I mean I had major surgery three weeks ago. My incision has healed nicely, a lot of the weight has come off, my skin is going back to normal. Of course, sometimes I sit up and want to scream because HI they just cut those muscles less than a month ago.

We're figuring stuff out here these days. Plugging along. The days blend together one after another.

And at least I am not pregnant any fucking more.

The Anti-Mush

That's my girl. Bright eyed. Awake. She does this now. It does make the rest of it easier to deal with.

She doesn't like baths. We learned this last night when she turned purple with RAGE at her bath. Screeching bloody murder from the second her clothes were off until we had her dressed again. Even then I was glad that I had planned ahead enough to wait to nurse after so she would calm down. The "Soothing Lavendar" bath stuff probably didn't make her sleepy as planned. But the screaming did wear her ass out.

She has to be swaddled at night. Or her arms flail around and keep her awake. She throws her hands up in a baby Touchdown! gesture. She is not amused if you imitate her on this one.

She gets the hiccups. Full body. I get the loudest hiccups known to man, so loud and full that they shake my body. As a kid my dad would accuse me of faking them. So sorry that I passed that on to you kiddo.

She's three weeks old today. Even anti-mush me can enjoy that.

Ungrateful

People in my house seem to believe that they get an opinion about whether I am being weird about my daughter's sleep. They do not get an opinion.

They do not get an opinion because they are not the ones that pay the price when she doesn't sleep. They don't get up dozens of times during the night (or at all) with her. They don't take care of her during the day. NO ONE GETS AN OPINION BUT ME.

Oh, and J's assurances that my MIL would do whatever I asked? BULLSHIT. I asked her to please not try to keep the baby asleep all day long. If she is tired, let her sleep, but if she is awake have the lights on, talk to her, let her move her arms and legs. PLAY WITH HER. This has been met with an insistance on swaddling her in a dark room all day with a quick switch to letting her arms out when I walk in. My request that she wake me up in the morning after two hours so the kid could eat? Met with her using the pacifier to shut her up for two extra hours so that the kid is so hungry she is hysterical and makes herself puke.

By the way, I am still not allowed to complain. I AM UNGRATEFUL.

I am not allowed to say anything to my husband actually. He is so tired from delivering his software package you see. Which actually, I do feel sorry for him. But he still has the energy to stay up watching movies and go to bars with his friends while I am at home with his mother and baby and exhausted so my sympathy it is Limited.

The list of people I like is also limited. It includes my mommy. And daddy. And the baby. And you internet.

It includes J when he is being adorable with the kid. It doesn't include him when he plays with her for half an hour and then gives her to his mom (who, you guessed it, SWADDLES AND PUTS HER TO SLEEP IMMEDIATELY).