I Had A Baby So I Wrote This On My Iphone

My relationship with coffee has changed so much in the past few weeks. I’ve seen all these cliche mom posts about wine and coffee, but once you pop out a second kid something inside of you wants coffee 24/7. It’s just like the SNL spirit animal skit. We instinctively chop off our hair, drink a LOT of coffee and develop a taste for wine. I mean-I haven’t yet wanted wine *vodka cran girl*, but it appears to be my closest goal.

I have two kids, a minivan, and strong opinions on vaccinations. I am a 19 year old child in a 31 year old mother’s body. And it’s weird as hell. Continue reading

Y2K AND THREENAGERS

Y’all remember Y2K?  If you don’t, congratulations, you are incredibly and luckily young.  I was in 7th grade when I was first warned.  My science teacher, an older gentleman, made it very clear that we were to be prepared.  The computers.  ALL THE COMPUTERS.  Like….Errrrrwhere….were going to shut down.  For some reason, this meant the world was pretty much going to stop working.  Because the computers…um…I don’t know….didn’t know what year it was or something.  Like I said, I was in 7th grade.   Continue reading

Letters To Jack: Letter Two

Oh Jack,

This week has just been the worst.  One day (if you decide to have children), you will drop your kid off at daycare or school for the first time and you will discover what real solid pain feels like.

Today was your fourth day.  The first two days I let you go just for a few hours to get used to it.  Yesterday, I left you for ten hours. TEN.  For ten hours I left you with total strangers.  A little boy pushed you down and scratched your beautiful face and stole your toy.  Your teacher handed me a piece of paper explaining your injuries.  She said you did nothing.  You just cried.  I purposely did not ask which little tot caused harm to my perfect child because I knew that you might one day become friends with him, and that one day you might want him to come over and play, and you might even grow up to be best friends-and I would hate his little toddler guts for the rest of my life. Continue reading

Mama’s Getting Married-And Everyone Is Freaking Out About My Dad

A few weeks ago, she called me.  “Is your dad okay?!” she asked in her WHAT THE HELL voice.  I was confused.  “Yes.  I think so.  I haven’t talked to him today, but I think he’s okay. I don’t understand.”  Explaining further, Mom had been asked by several people how Dad is “dealing” with her upcoming nuptials.  A few others had asked if she was inviting her ex-husband to the wedding.  “That’s funny, Mom!  I’ve been asked, too.”

I had.  People I really don’t even know that well had asked me in sympathetic voices, “How’s your Dad doing with your mom getting remarried?”  First of all, if he were miserable, I definitely wouldn’t tell you that, but the thing is-he isn’t.  Secondly, the conversation was never started with “Congratulations!  I’m glad your mom is happy.” I always awkwardly explain that Dad is quite happy.  He’s happy with his life, and he’s happy for my mom.   If you’re reading this and thinking “Oh, God.  I was the one she’s talking about.”  you are one of many, and I’m not mad at you.  I just thought maybe you’d like to read the way your words sound from our perspective in case you find yourself in a similar situation in the future. Continue reading

I Wanted A Girl

My whole life, I knew I wanted a little girl.  She would have blonde hair and blue eyes just like me.  She’d be funny and sarcastic and she would LOVE The Little Mermaid.  (Narcissistic much?)  I think part of my girl-wanting was due to wishing I had a sister.  Obviously, I grew up and realized that children weren’t around specifically to entertain their parents, but still, I wanted a girl.  Even as a teenager, I’d see those adorable little dresses at Target and think, “One day.”   Continue reading

When Toddlers Attack

As I am writing this, my little angel dumplin’ is chillin’ in his crib, singing happy songs about how much he loves his mother because of my undying affection for him.  He is holding his Momo blankie and thinking of all the fun times he had with me today. Like when he threw that soup can at my head.  Or when he picked up a baseball bat and hit me as hard as he could.  Or, here is the best part, when he grabbed a glass bowl that I was eating from and hit me directly in the nose and I seriously thought it was broken.  His favorite part of the day, I’m sure, is laughing at me as I tried to get him to stay in “the time out corner”.  This escape from baby prison game is THE BEST!  You know how psychopaths on TV like to smile as they’re about to torture their victims?  Well, I think my baby might be a psychopath.  This brings me to a quick flashback story.  It’s the reason I’m here-in this amazing situation.  It’s the reason for my punishment. Continue reading

A Day In The Life Of A Full Time Poop Cleaner

You think you know poop?  You might-but I. Know. Poop.  I was even a poop expert pre-baby.  As a nurse, I can tell alot by your poop.  What medications you take, whether you drink enough water, and-any nurse will agree-whether or not you have C-diff.  I’m not kidding.  I can seriously smell C-diff.  NURSES CAN TELL YOU IF YOU HAVE C-DIFF.  They won’t, though.  Because they aren’t supposed to-but they totally know.

I know what you’re thinking.  “THIS IS DISGUSTING WHY IS SHE TELLING ME THIS?!”  Because I want to warn you.  The story I’m about to share with you is all about poop.  Duh.

At home, I am in charge of the cat’s litter box (on weekdays) and of course, my son’s glorious little diaper gifts.  I take the dogs out once or twice a day.  **I feel like my husband will want you to know that he takes the dogs to the park every day-and that I never take them to the park.  Ever.  And that usually, the dogs are with him when they poop.**  Still, they poop sometimes with me.  I am often the one (due to my husband’s weird sleeping schedule) to clean up animal vomit and what-not.

So, here is what went down yesterday.  I brought my one year old son home from a very long car trip to a restaurant (50 miles away) and then to another restaurant (20 miles away) because the former was closed.  I got the pot roast and for the first time EVER it was awful.  I sent it back for some fried chicken that wasn’t ready until we were about to leave.  The point is, it had been a long day.

I get home and put my son down to get things in the house.  I’ve already given him a bath before dinner in hopes that he would be asleep when we get home.  Nope.  He starts to play and then suddenly stops.  Completely frozen in his familiar “I’m taking a giant dump” pose.  I wait.  As I am changing him, I notice his cute little tushy is a bit red.  I decide to let it air out a little before I put some cream on it and get him ready for bed.

This is when I notice that in the other room, the litter box has been removed 15 feet from its original location.  It is overturned, lid off, and the carpet is covered in poop-filled litter.  There is literally NO litter in the damned box.  We have wooden floors, but of course, as is my dog’s want, all of the litter and its contents are directly on top of the only rug in the entire stupid room.  Instead of getting insanely agitated, I decide to just go in there and clean it up before I even have a chance to feel sorry for myself.  Sometimes, when I have to clean up a mess like this, I get angry with the entire world.  Like God told the dog to go dump out the litter box because I deserve punishment for cursing at the lady who wouldn’t get out of the fast lane yesterday.

So, I clean it up.  Scoop the poop.  Throw it out.  Sweep the room.  Vacuum the rug.  Return the litter box.  Then, I go back to the den to get my baby ready for bed so I can CHILL THE HELL OUT.

As I walk into the den, I notice a familiar smell.  I wonder, “Is that just because I just scooped poop?  Nope.  That is definitely toddler poop.  Perhaps, it is from the diaper I changed when we got home.”  (Yes.  I really do wonder to myself like that.)  NOPE.  My sweet little angel has just had diarrhea in two separate locations of the room.  The fully carpeted room.  The child, who JUST took a dump and usually doesn’t take another dump immediately after, has pooped ALL OVER THE CARPET.  Oh, well.  This one is totally on me.  I’ll just throw a diaper on him, put his PJs on and off to bed he goes while I clean this up.  Right?  NOPE.

First, I wipe his precious little behind, then I slap a diaper on him, and as I pick him up to put his pajamas on him, I notice the bottom of his feet.  Both of them.  You’ll never guess what it was.  Kidding.  You will.  It was poop.  MORE POOP.  At this point, it is on baby AND mommy.  To the bath we go.

Thirty minutes later, we are both clean and ready for bed.  I put him in his crib and thank you JESUS he immediately lays down like “Thanks, Mom.  Today was exhausting.  Holla.”

I’m feeling a little better.  Calmer.  Cleaner.  I walk back into the den ready to relax when something mushy and wet on the bottom of my foot quietly reminded me that “UM. DUH. THE WHOLE REASON YOU JUST TOOK A BATH WITH YOUR BABY IS BECAUSE HE DROPPED A MAJOR DEUCE ON YOUR DEN FLOOR .”  I wash my feet.  I clean the carpet.   I am done for the day.  I finally give up on life and go to bed.  Tomorrow is a new day-and hey-shit happens.

Cutting Sandwiches

Every day, as I prepare a meal for my one year old, I think of my dad.  Especially when I’m cutting his sandwiches into perfect little squares so his squishy fingers can shove bite-sized pieces into his mouth.  It reminds me of the meals my dad used to make me.  Peanut butter and jelly was my fav.  Four perfect squares, hold the crust.  Cheese toast was second best.  These bits were even smaller.  Tiny individual toasts with melted cheddar.  Another frequent request was “pink pink”, my word for scrambled eggs.  Dad isn’t quite sure where that came from, but we think I called it that because the eggs came in a pink carton.  I didn’t call scrambled eggs anything, but “pink pink” until I was embarrassingly old. When I am cutting Jack’s sandwiches up for him, I think of my dad and all the fun we had growing up.  All the weird and unique things I did with just my dad and no one else.  Here are just a few of the things that I flashback to while cutting sandwiches: Continue reading