Posts Tagged ‘personal’

Knock, Knock

Helloooooo, blog friends! Are you still there? Sorry for the hiatus, but I’m really awful without sleep and babies are awful about sleeping. So these past months have not been my most eloquent or awake ones. But here we are, 6 months into things, and Joey is sitting and playing on her own, sleeping at night, and taking two naps. So guess who has a bit more brainpower and time? I have no idea. Un-relatedly, I’m going to try to blog again. Going to take it slow with the goal to write 1/week.

Let’s catch you up to speed on where we are… I’m now admitting to be a SAHM. I am in mommy-baby groups that meet multiple days a week (!). We are starting solids. We are moving soon! Patrick is still not proficient at putting a onesie on a baby or changing a poo diaper by himself, but I suspect he is just feigning clumsiness so as to spend more quality time with me. Also, I talk about poo now. Clearly, I have a lot to write about these days, so why not do it here with you?

To reward those of you who are still with us, and because Angie requested…

Sitting pretty

Sitting pretty


Face Time


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When I posted about hospitals in Massachusetts no longer sending new parents home with formula samples, I did not expect some of the reactions I got — mostly via private communication, not blog comments.

“Free To Be You And Me” does not seem to apply to parenting choices. I’m starting to keep a list of things not to discuss with other parents: labor plans, feeding, diapering, pacifying, baby transport systems…

I love having options because we are all different parents, with varying needs, interests, and preferences. Do I think my preferences are better than all the rest? Not in the slightest. I don’t even know if my prenatal preferences will be best for my postpartum life.

That being said, we got a “gift” in the mail yesterday. Patrick and I just sort of stared at it dumbfounded…

G: Is that what I think it is?

P: Yup!

G: How did they get our address?

P: No idea.

G: Is this from our hospital?

P: Or a pregnancy group you are a member of?

The offender:

Enfamil found a way around Mass hospital formula policy?

More logical people than ourselves would say, “Hey neat! A box of three samples, just in case.” But part of my breast feeding approach is not to have alternatives handy until I know there is no other way.

More considerate people than ourselves would say, “Hey, let’s see if any of our parent or parent-to-be friends would like some of this formula!”  But we are just a little ticked off. So, we’ll be returning to sender.

No one asked us if we wanted this formula. Had it been offered in the hospital, we could have declined and moved on. But this direct shipment has rubbed us the wrong way. Furthermore, it seems just plain wasteful to blindly send these heavy, large boxes out to third-trimester moms unaware of their feeding plans/desires. Here is an idea, Enfamil — don’t waste money sending huge boxes of food to parents that don’t need them and lower your crazy high prices so parents buying your food can afford it.

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Dear Psychic Due Date Predictors:

It is me! The woman who looks like she is ready to give birth at any moment. I have an apology for you.

When you, Post Office Guy, announced to all the patrons of our local post office that I looked like I was ready to be a mom soon, I had 4 more months to go. Honestly, at that point in time, I wasn’t mad at you. I had assumed that you were friendly, bored, and bonkers. More importantly, I was so excited that I looked pregnant to strangers and not just fat! But then your fellow due date prediction pals started their assault…

Lady at Target: Yes, we were due the same month and you barely had a bump, but that did not mean I was ready to rush off to Labor and Delivery just yet. OK, so you didn’t actually say anything mean to me, or suggest I rush to the hospital, but you didn’t have to. Your tiny adorable bump did all the talking for you. 

Neighborhood Porch Guy: In your defense, I was having really bad Braxton Hicks contractions outside of your house during my walk. Thank you for offering to drive me home, to avoid a birth in front of your house, but I still had three months to go! Sheesh! And for the record, I finished my walk. Although my docs recommend that I cut back on the distance. 

Cooking Class Man: Dude, what is up? I’m here to wrap food in paper hearts. Your comment about how it must be “any day now” was not appreciated. I don’t care if your wife had five daughters, making you some sort of psychic pregnancy professional. And your “It is the stripes on your dress” excuse did not help… Stripes don’t add *months* to a pregnancy! Apparently, I am still mad at you!

All ready for doc appointment. I took a picture because I can’t trust the mirror.

So yeah, I got a bit self-conscious thanks to you people. And as Yoda says, “Self-consciousness leads to self-loathing, self-loathing leads to defensive anger aimed towards strangers (and tiny unassuming bumps) who can’t seem to resist foot-in-the-mouth opportunities.” So I got angry with you all. (And Yoda, a fan of anger, is not.) You probably didn’t even notice my rage. To your faces, I sheepishly apologized for being so large as to make you choke on your own toe-jam. Then, in the comfort of my safe-zone (Patrick), I unleashed furious rants directed towards each of you. My rants also make Patrick laugh, so everyone wins!

Then I went to my doc appointment last week. Weight was on target, my BP was nice and low, and baby’s heartbeat sounded like a rave beat on E. Remember raves? Me neither. All was going well until the doc measured my belly not once, but twice. Huh? Turns out I’m measuring 4 weeks ahead. In fact, according to the metric system, my belly resembles a boulder more than a bump.

So my apologies to you due-date predicting, toe-jam sucking strangers. Sorry for angrily talking about you behind your back. I said cutting things like “What does he know? Has he ever seen a pregnant person before? Should I go into hiding (back to self-consciousness)?  They are all mean-butts!” (The baby can not only hear, but can distinguish our voices now, so I don’t want to be known as the pirate-tongued, mean, lady-one just yet.) 

You were all right; I do look big. Just stop telling me about it? OK? Thanks! There, now that we made up, you can touch my belly. It is good luck!

PS. I can’t get my shoes on!

“No, Patrick, don’t help me, take a picture.” No seriously, that is what I said to him.

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There is this super-amazing pregnant woman named Giselle. She looks like a Giselle — athletic, gorgeous, French, and happy. Since she is French, her baby will be sleeping through the night by 3 months, eating quietly and politely in restaurants, and eating off the normal menu. Naturally, it follows that my future child will be up all night flinging poo and screaming and refusing to eat anything other than french fries. Giselle and I have the same due date, so I can’t help but compare myself to her. But no matter what I do, I cannot live up to her…

During first trimester, when 24/7 “morning” sickness got so bad that my doc put me on meds, she bragged about how lucky she was to be doing her whole pregnancy med-free. I waited for her turn to come, but it never did. When first trimester then turned my forehead into a bumpy, red, acne-ridden mess, her skin was still flawless. I, of course, waited for her perfect face to break out too… But no. How did she do that?

When second trimester came and I finally got back into exercise 5-6 days a week, I was thrilled! I felt fit again, more in charge of my body, and my bump was growing beautifully. But leave it to Giselle to ruin that too. I could hear her thinking, “Oh you walk 2-3 miles and follow a prenatal DVD on weekdays. Um, that’s (lame) nice… By the way, did I tell you I’m TRAINING FOR A MARATHON? Doc says I’m fit enough. Ta ta!” Who does that? I… hate… her… 

26 weeks and 3 days

Did I mention that Giselle is also a writer? She “dabbles,” in her words, but she is as annoyingly impressive in this, as with everything else. During this pregnancy she has never been more motivated and creative. Her unborn child is her muse and constant source of inspiration. As we are approaching third trimester (and my mental capacity and energy levels are declining), Giselle tells me she manages to sit down every day to write. Yes, me too, if “writing every day” means watching Real Housewives of Wherever followed by a fatigue-induced nap. 

To sum up Giselle: Amazing, annoying, the wonder woman of pregnancy, and a completely made-up person I’ve been comparing myself to throughout this pregnancy. (I’m not totally crazy, I only gave her a name, super-amazing triumphs, and a nationality for the purpose of this blog post.) Even if Giselle is made up, I am sure there is someone out there in real life being just as fabulous and making me look like the lamest, laziest, most limited preggo ever.

But In truth, I feel like the happiest, luckiest, most Zen preggo out there. Every once in awhile, when this belly surprises me with a limitation or this pregnancy slows me down, I have a moment of doubt — Can other pregnant women out there do this? Are they sleeping through the night in comfort? Getting their shoes on faster? Walking 2 miles without intense back pain? But instead of letting these pointless comparisons get to me, I listen to my body, give the bump a little rub, put my feet up, and marvel at all the amazing going on inside. Running and writing can wait, we’re growing a baby!

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I know this sounds like the world’s lamest excuse, but since getting knocked up I have lost my memory, creativity, and attention-span. So, I have not been writing, blogging, or reading anything with chapters…or paragraphs…or really long sentences.

Luckily for me, baby books are written for people with the attention-span the size of a 140 character Twitter update–short sections and no long paragraphs to wade through–so I can still feed my obsession for baby info without just scrolling through my Twitter feed. Wait, what was the point I was trying to make?

Anyway, that is why I haven’t been: blogging, working on my book rewrites, remembering to add ketchup and flour to the grocery list, or finishing my thought… There was supposed to be more to this paragraph. Gah!

So it dawns on me that I forgot to tell you all that WE’RE HAVING A GIRL!! Also, I am smuggling a globe in my shirt and I can see the inside of my belly button for the first time.

Mama’s got a big ol’ bump, oh yeah!

Other milestones we’ve experienced: I can feel little Joey Kangaroo kicking and wiggling first thing in the morning, right before bed, and when I eat spicy food or sugar. When Patrick puts his hand on my belly, he can now feel our Kung-Fu Panda kick. And I have had one of those Alien moments–whilst reading a baby book (or Twitter, who can remember) I caught my belly moving “on its own” from the corner of my eye. I screamed.

Kung Fu Panda is growing!

We’ve also experienced something I did not expect, but I guess should have… Crazy generosity from our friends and family. Baby shower season isn’t even here yet and we already have a stocked baby bookshelf (with more board books on the way)!!

The most important area in baby’s room

And the clothes! Whew, remember to tell a few family and friends you are expecting a girl and you get a clothing explosion!!

Cute girl clothes!

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All right! Let’s get this started!

Yes. Yessss. Yeah! Yes.


C’mon, man! Come. On!

Ugh. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Come on. Seriously?

Okay. Okay, here we go.

Now that’s more like it!



Come onnnnn!


All right. Yes! YES! YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

All right! Here we go, Steelers, here we go.

No! No! No! No no no no no no no no no no NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!


F@*$-ing Tebow.

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Best. NaNoWriMo. Award. Ever. Thank you, RayKay57!

I am a NaNoWriMo winner! I won the following: a full draft of my first book, bragging rights, a printable color certificate, a winner’s badge to put on my blog, and my fab twitter/blog pal made me a celebratory present! Woo-to-the-hoo!

Friend-designed award aside, winning the NaNoWriMo challenge was not the epic accomplishment of my literary dreams. Once the initial few seconds of shine wore off, I felt like I was saddled with a sloppy and forced rushed-draft, rather than a sound and malleable rough-draft.

I have amassed 50,000 words into something that resembles the disheveled typings of a disoriented, dizzy lunatic. Judging from the sentence structure, I think the lunatic left school in the 4th grade. And judging the plot twists, turns, and plummets (where did that major plot point go?), it appears this lunatic has the story-telling ability of a pre-verbal colicy baby.


But I finished! And I never thought I could write a full draft of a book in a month! I know I have some strong ideas and more than a few salvageable sentences amid the word pile, and that feels fantastic! Although I am not impressed with the quality of my writing, even I can admit that some neat writing moments came to be because I forced myself to sit and write for the sake of the NaNoWriMo word count.

I’m stepping away from the draft for a few days. Hello Skyrim! But once my coffee mug trophy arrives in the mail, the hunt for salvageable material begins!

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