After hearing myself say to my son, “No. We don’t put our hand in the dog’s butt.” and posting said statement on Facebook, I was inspired by my friend Amber to figure out a way to help toddlers answer the more difficult questions in life. Often, when saying to Jack, “Don’t lick that!” or “We don’t show our belly button to total strangers, darling.”, he has a very confused expression on his face. So, after way too much time figuring out how to create flowcharts on free online software, I give you: Flowcharts for Toddlers. The following should be helpful for your child when a challenging situation arises. Good luck!
As I sit here watching my beautiful little angel puff attempting to eat his Disney pasta and peas, I can’t help but reminisce of a specific moment in my life. It was right after my wisdom teeth had been taken out. I was attempting to feed myself some Kraft Mac and Cheese (THE BEST PASTA IN A BOX EVER), but was so discombobulated that I couldn’t find my mouth. It was so frustrating. I was starving and all I wanted more than anything in the world was the delicious, orange, mushy-ness in my pie hole. Instead, I stabbed my cheeks repeatedly with four tiny knives like a drunken idiot. Continue reading
Today is day seven in a row of BABY. During the week, I am a stay-at-home mom, but most weekends, I work. I work for a few reasons. One, we can use the money. Two, I need to get out of this house and away from my angel nugget at least once a week. Jack is my joy. The moment I leave him, I miss him. The second I put him to bed, I want to pick him back up and hold him watch him sleep. When I hear him in the morning, I love walking into his room and seeing his smile as we start our day together. That being said, as most parents know, I NEED A BREAK. Continue reading
Ah! This is my first guest blog post! My friend, Kelly Love, suggested I write about the Mommy Boards on Facebook, but I don’t really have experience with them. I usually just ask Kelly or my other friends for “Momvice”. So, Kelly decided to write the damned thing herself. Here it goes:
If you’re a mom these days, chances are you may have joined a mom’s group on facebook. They’re a great resource for new moms who are freaking out about every little thing, if you’re trying to get rid of stuff in the basement, and for advice on illnesses, behaviors, handling in-laws, et cetera. Let’s be real here, the mom group is kind of a God send for everyone, since posts can ask questions about poop, rashes, and other gory kid stuff, and spare the hungover-facebook-friend-from-college from wretching up their 3am Taco Bell, because it’s no longer on their news feed. (I miss you, by the way, friend.) Continue reading
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.
Today was crazy. I ran pretty much every errand on my list. Sent cards. Went to bank. Purchased and wrapped wedding gifts. Got ten dollar Target gift card for buying two boxes of diapers. (Woot!) Bought Maya Angelou stamps. (Double woot!) As Jack and I were exiting our car at Target, the sky fell upon us and soaked us completely. It was almost nice, as the air conditioned building helped us survive the record breaking heat that has kept us from going anywhere outdoors this week. The best part of my day may have been when my dog puked up hamburger grease on the carpet. Or maybe it was a few hours later when she did it again, but I didn’t notice-until my baby slipped in it-requiring an immediate tiny human rinse off/carpet cleaning combo. Actually, it might even be about an hour ago, when my husband woke me up in the middle of the night to find his car keys that I lost. It’s hard to believe that only a few days ago, we were living it up in Kansas City. Already, we are back to the real world of annoying my husband and bathing my puke covered toddler. Continue reading
My day today-and most days this week:
Mommy: Do you want up? Say, “Up!” and I’ll pick you up. Say, “Up!”
Jack: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA YOU ARE THE WORST PARENT EVER!
Mommy: Say, “Up!” As soon as you say it, I’ll pick you up.
Jack: WAAAAAAAAAAA WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME?!
REPEAT. Five hundred times. Continue reading
Today, as Jack and Myles were playing in their car, I overheard something that you might not believe. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Myles likes to hit the car really hard and run away while Jack laughs and stays in. I was just checking to see if everything was alright and that no fingers were at risk for jamnation. I guess they didn’t notice. I walked in mid-sentence. It all seemed like normal toddler babble to me, until…. Continue reading
Every time Jack has even a low grade temperature, I go into panic mode. As a nurse, I know that fevers are actually a good thing. They are your body’s way of getting rid of foreigners that are trying to take over. By increasing the body’s temperature, organisms that don’t belong are (in a nutshell) heated to death. The nurse part of me says, “Becca? What’s your frickin problem? He’s fine. Take a chill pill and go to bed.”, but the mother part of me says “No. Way. We CANNOT rest until the tiny human is back to normal. It is your JOB. It is YOUR fault if his temperature increases to 104 in his sleep.” The mother part always wins. Any other kid and I would give them some Tylenol and check on them in the morning, but Jack? Jack is MY kid, and the only way to get any sleep is to sleep in his room and listen to him breathing. Continue reading
When I decided to start this blog, I was determined NOT to make it another “Mom Blog”. The internet is littered with them and I don’t want to be in the middle of the pile. When I was pregnant, I read every mom blog there was and really enjoyed them, but I think there are already enough. One of my best friends has recently decided to make the transition from working mom to work-from-home mother and while she is excited about it, she is also a bit apprehensive. I give you exhibit A: Continue reading