Dear Kid: Month 3

Dear Kid,

Last Friday you turned three months old, which means that, as of today, we’ve managed to keep you alive for 99 days. Tomorrow you will be 100 days old. Hopefully some day you will be 100 years old.

I would have gotten this letter to you last week, but for the past seven days we’ve been preparing to take you on a road trip to go to the grocery store. Just kidding. Getting you ready doesn’t take seven days. Actually, people become doctors in less time than it takes to get you ready to leave the house.

We know this, because you started day care this week. Your father and I had visions of grandeur about how our supremely organized mornings would be in order to expedite this process. The only thing we forgot about is your ability to have a complete blowout just as we’re preparing to place you in the car seat. A blow out so huge that it required an entire wardrobe change. Then there was that bottle of milk that exploded all over your diaper bag. Expressed breast milk. That one wasn’t your fault, but that was understandably the event that brought tears to my eyes.

So. Day care. Your day care provider loves you so far (well done, son, well done). We’re glad because we sure like her. Your father drops you off at day care and then I get to be the hero and pick you up, and so far you’ve dazzled each arrival and exit with smiles, and that makes us feel good. Though after your father dropped you off that first day I’m fairly confident he cried. (He might not have ACTUALLY shed tears but I know he probably wanted to, because when he called me after dropping you off he sounded like maybe the world had decided to take away college football. And All Blacks rugby. And Doritos. ON THE SAME DAY.)

He was sad to drop you off because basically you’re the nicest baby we’ve ever been around. No kidding. I mean, I get it, you’re OUR kid. But you also happen to be freaking awesome in all the other “technical” awesome baby ways too. You hardly cry, you sleep 8 hours a night now (and when you don’t, your dad feeds you…HOLLER!), and you even let us eat hot meals because you like laying on this thing that has other things hanging from it. You grab those things and squeal quite loudly. Shit, if that type of stuff continues to entertain you we’ll just give you our unused key chains for Christmas. Funsies!

The other thing that entertains you is your Gramma. She watched you the first week I went back to work. You guys are like BFF’s now. No kidding. I know when you get to junior high it might not seem that cool to be BFF’s with your Gramma, but we can keep it on the down low publicly as long as you can keep it real when she comes around.

We continue to learn new things about how we’re supposed to be taking care of you. Everyday when your father comes out of the bathroom, as a matter of fact, he shares a new tidbit that he’s learned from what we now refer to as “The Book.” It’s this big book that is supposed to tell us everything about how we’re supposed to care for you during the first year of your life. So far, we’ve discovered that we’ve only almost killed you 4 times. One of them had to do with lead poisoning. No big deal.

Anyway, we’ve learned other stuff from you too, which is weird because you’re only 99 days old. Like, wtf could you possibly teach us, right? A lot actually. Like, for example, I don’t actually miss going out on the town and drinking and singing Pat Benatar at karaoke as much as I thought I would because I’d actually rather stay home and clean up you stinky poo. Explain that one to me.

Maybe when you start having man poops that will change.

Listen, the point I’m trying to make here is that I’ve discovered that before you came along I was basically a selfish person, and I was totally comfortable staying that way. You make me a little less so.

So...thank you for that. And thank you for sleeping 8 hours again last night. That too.

Love,

Your Momma.

Just another Saturday night as a 30 something...

Remember when I used to party like a rock star?  Me either.  What's crazy is that it's not like I've abandoned the group of friends who used to participate in said rock star partying.  We still hang out.  It's just now we've begun to multiply like flies, we drink wine (we've moved on from Arbor Mist) instead of Bacardi 151 Busch light, and we no longer puke in the drive through of fast food restaurants at 3 in the morning are typically home well before midnight. 

Don't get me wrong, I still know every word of "Back dat ass up" and will, on an occasion (and with a certain enthusiasm I would only display in front of my husband), bust that shit out when it's "clean the bathroom day", but it's been a long time since my ass has backed up into anything...unless you count last Sunday, when I was literally forced to rub my ass up against the car next to me while attempting to navigate the car seat into the back of my jeep because Mr. IownahummerbecauseIthinkitwillhelpmegetlaid decided to give me 3 whole inches to get into my vehicle in the Target parking lot.  But other than that, I like to keep my ass as closely parallel to the rest of my body as possible these days. 

In fact, when we find ourselves rockpaperscissoring our significant others at a party because we're attempting to pawn off the next diaper change on one another, we often ask ourselves, "What happened to us?  We used to be cool!"  Well, life, I guess.  Now we chair community events and educate children and talk shop and teach yoga on Saturday mornings. 

Yoga, whaaaaa?  COME ON NOW MR. A, YOU KNEW THIS POST WAS COMING. 

Funny you bring up yoga.  One of the long standing members of our "we used to be cool in college" group - we'll call him "Mr. A" - does happen to teach yoga on an occasion.  Recently, after a few glasses of Cabernet, he decided it was important to show us a new yoga move he's considering incorporating into the "partner" portion of his class.  He asked for volunteers and his best friend since they were negative years old enthusiastically stepped forward. 

I think it's wise to let the photos speak for themselves:



It just didn't look quite right at first.













 

  



















It wasn't working out with Mr. A on the bottom, so they made a switch.

This is where it gets weird (in case you were wondering):

Let's take another look at that angle:



Mr. A (over laughter, but totally serious):
It's imperative to keep your toes pointed for balance.

And THAT'S when Paul walked in to room and said, "Me next!"

The end.

Note:  No humans were harmed in the making of this post. It should also be noted that no one pictured in this post actually threw up in the drive through of a fast food restaurant after being introduced to Bacardi 151.  That was...a different friend.  For truesies.

 



Dear Kid: Month 2

Dear Kid,

As I write this you’re fast asleep on the couch wrapped up like a burrito…a wrap I’ve become quite adept at creating because basically IT SAVES OUR LIVES you really like it. Your dad is leaned up against the couch watching you sleep because as of late, the two of us find that everything else is uninteresting compared to you.

You’re TWO MONTHS TODAY! That means that we’ve managed to keep you alive for 62 days, but who’s counting, really? You’ve gotten so BIG! Like, even your lineman of a father was all “my shoulder’s all jacked up from holding him” big. THAT big. 12.5 lbs big.

Speaking of him, can I just say that you’ve given me the best gift by being able to give HIM the best gift? Honestly, Semisi, these past two months I’ve never seen your father exude such happiness, and I can confidently attribute all of it directly to you. He’s not much of a gift exchanger…hates receiving gifts as a matter of fact (I KNOW...Christmas time at our house is TORTURE for him)…but giving him you? I know this year I NAILED it. I’ll never be able to top this.

Your dad changes more diapers than I do, as a matter of fact. You continually thank him for taking on this duty by giving him a run for his money every third change or so. I can always tell when you’ve been able to “get him good” by waiting to finish the job when the cold air hits you, because I can hear your dad say, “Ohhhhh, you little bugger…” because he CANNOT call you a little shit. He just can’t. Because he likes you that much. I would challenge any other person on the planet to shit on your father and have him respond in that way. (That one night when you got him THREE times? That was epic. Well done, Son, WELL. DONE.)

I think I could even go as far as to say that your presence in our lives has brought the two of us even closer together. We rarely bicker anymore because you’ve given us a perspective that basically reminds us that little shit that we used to worry about really doesn’t matter a whole lot anymore. The only thing we fight about is the proper way to give you a bath. (For the record, I do it right.) (Please remember to tell him that when you can speak.) (Don’t tell him I told you to say that, obvs.)  (This will not be the last time I put you up to something like this.)

These past few months with you have been the most challenging and most memorably happy months of my life. Very difficult to describe that dichotomy, but I can say that it’s been 100% worth it. You’re such a sweet little guy. Today you got your first shots and it absolutely killed me that they interrupted your cooing and smiles with shots in your chunky thigh that made you scream bloody murder. But then…THEN!...after it was all done and I picked you up you immediately quit crying and gave me the biggest open mouthed grin I’ve seen as of late (and you smile A LOT). That was about all I could take, because that’s when my heart melted to the point that it actually seeped out of my skin, leaped down to squeeze your cheeks, and buried itself in between your chin and neck, WHERE IT WILL LIVE FOREVER AND EVER AMEN.

Because really, you’re the best gift I’ve ever given myself…and all you do right now is smile and poop and sleep and eat (and occasionally throw out a drama bomb…but hey, you are MY KID after all). We know what you look like…what your smile looks like…your hair (you already have enough hair to give yourself a good case of bed head). But other than that, your life is a blank canvas waiting for your touch...and frankly, I can’t wait to see how you’ll paint the world around you.

I had a friend once who told me that the day her son was born, she felt more loved than she’d ever felt in her life. I didn’t understand that before I had you. Now I do. Thank you for that.

Love,

Momma

Basically I'm famous again.

Happy Holidays! I've got quite a few posts in the works (two men simulating birthing techniques, Semisi turns two months, and much more!), but in the meantime, I've got big news up in here, y'all!  Well, big to me. 

Remember that one time when I was famous for like, 20 minutes?  Well, the lady who runs that website decided to publish a book called A Practical Wedding: Creative Ideas for Planning a Beautiful, Affordable, and Meaningful Celebration.  Here it is for real proof:

 

THEN...drum roll please....she contacted me a short time after to see if she could feature the piece I wrote in her book!  And guess what?  She did!  I'm on page 19-20 (that's MULTIPLE pages, but who needs specifics?) and I even have a mini bio in the book.  Meg Keene (the author) just sent me a signed copy today!  Squeeeee!  So basically I'm famous again.  No big deal.

To celebrate this, we'll (I say "we'll" like there is more than one person running this blog.  There isn't, but it makes it sounds more big time) be doing something REALLY exciting on January 1st, which is a significant date for two reasons:  1) it's anniversary of the time I decided to really start blogging and 2) it's my ACTUAL anniversary to my husband.  (Double win!)  What will we be doing, you ask?  It rhymes with Biv-a-day...and this isn't your mother's biv-a-day, y'all...this is a nearly $200 value something or other... 

Stay tuned! 

Welcome to the 2011 Nursery Reveal Extravaganza!!!

Okay, I had to give the post quite the name because A) people usually "reveal" their nurseries BEFORE they have their baby and B) I took the nursery pictures with my iphone, so I need to really build it up or else you might look at the crappy pictures and be like, "Wow. I clicked the link on facebook for THIS?"

Well, you might still be let down, but at least the post has a hell of a name.

ANYWAY, I'm not too domestic, but I got down and dirty with this nursery people. Obvs I didn't know what I was having prior to birth, and the trouble with gender neutral nurseries is that unless you like pale green and yellow, you're shit out of luck.

Then I discovered pinterest. So between that and etsy, I was able to scrounge up enough plagiarized ideas inspiration to put something together.

A while back I did a post about my ailments (BIG surprise!) but at the end I put pictures up of a nursery that I wanted to try to somewhat replicate for about $15 dollars.

So, maybe I didn't do it in $15 bucks, but I will say I had a lot of help and I'm definitely pleased with how it came together. So, without further ado...























A few things:

I made the AK, MT, and Hawaii framed art. (The words in between the big text are names of towns within each state.) I found the Alaska one on etsy, loved it, decided to take that idea and role with it. I made one for HI and MT, as Paul and I met in AK, married in HI, and live in MT. Get it??? Since we don't really know much about our son yet (other than that he's the coolest kid EVER) we decided to make a nursery about US. I mean WHY NOT. The cool Alaska state wood carving was an anniversary gift from my friend Lauren. Love it!

My bff Angie screen printed the "Very Sleepy" art. Thanks again, Ang!

My MOM bought the awesome rug for me on Ebay, and the curtains at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Jackie, my step-mom, got the the cute chenille chair...from...get this...WALMART online. I may or may not have led her DIRECTLY to the chair that I wanted. I was bummed that it came from Wally world but it was the one I like best out of ALL OF THE CHAIRS ON THE INTERNETS and I felt a little bit better when it arrived with a huge MADE IN AMERICA sticker on it. So there you go.

I bought the crib linens on etsy, with the exception of the cute monogrammed pillow cover that Godmother #1's mom made for me (thanks Cathy!). I need to get a better pic of that to show it off more.

The decal of the birch trees came from etsy too...and since I was an English teacher, and I hale from English majors (my Dad was even an English Prof.), I went with the Robert Frost quote. My Dad would be all having a fit because it's actually "So was I once" rather than "So I was once"...yes, I screwed that up when ordering it, but hey, I could have kept in the "IT IS" at the beginning of the quote that the vendor so kindly included in the decal (as I said in the email, "Can we change the quote? I'd like a quote from Robert Frost. It is: 'So I was once...'"...yeah, thanks vendor...that was fun to cut out of the quote because they aren't hard enough to put AS IT IS.) A HUGE thanks to Amy for helping me put up that bad boy.

The quilt on the chair was a gift to Paul from one of the parents of his wrestling kids when he coached wrestling up in AK. Paul wanted to hang it on our living room wall when we first moved in. Dodged a HUGE bullet there, and it looks perfect draped over the chair. (What IS IT with dudes and wanting to hang blankets on walls???)

Other details in the room were pretty much all gifted (like the Semisi sign on the children's wardrobe...thanks Erin!). Ohhhh, and the crib I bought second hand (thanks for the awesome deal Shane!), the children's wardrobe was my late Grandmother's, and the changing table I bought at a garage sale for $12...it was an ugly blond wood and my mom and I stripped it and painted it one afternoon this last summer.

We're so blessed. What I actually spent probably came to around $350. What do y'all think?

Actually, if you don't like it, don't tell me. Just shower it with compliments please. My ego cannot take it.

And please quit proofreading my posts (SHELLEY E., I know you're doing this without even meaning to). My ego can't take that either.

Fairy Godmothers

In telling Godmother #1:

Soon to be GM1: So, how's the nursing going? How's my little sweety!?!
Me: Well, you're never going to believe this, but I have mastitis...AGAIN.
Soon to be GM1: You're kidding me! How do you keep getting that?
Me: Well, they say I get it from Semisi.
Soon to be GM1: That. little. bastard.
Me: I know! I don't think he means to though.
Soon to be GM1: Sure. Sure.
Me: In other news, we're wondering if you'd do us the honor of being one of the little bastard's Godmothers?
(Obvs she said YES.)

In telling Godmother #2:

Me: Paul and I were wondering if you'd do us the honor of being one of Semisi's Godmothers!
Soon to be GM2: Really! That's AWESOME! OF COURSE I WOULD! Who's the Godfather?
Me: There is no Godfather. He's just having two Godmothers. You and GM1.
Soon to be GM2: Awesome! I'm going to call her. We'll be like the ambiguously gay Godmothers!
Me: Perfect!
Soon to be GM2: I'm so HONORED! Wait. What do I have to do? Do I need to like, read the bible or something?
Me: Nah. Just be like, nice and stuff.
Soon to be GM2: Well I have good morals. After all, I'll be like, 48 by the time I even offer him a beer.
Me: He'll only be 18 then.
Soon to be GM2: Correct.

MRSA, Mastitis and Motherhood...Oh my!

Someday I'll quit writing about my ailments. I promise. Today is not that day.

So I've been MIA for a while. Sorry about that. It was getting hard.

Where do I begin? Well remember that time I was all, "Tomorrow is my first day alone with Semisi!" Well, that didn't happy for another week and a half because I ALMOST DIED.

Okay, maybe not. But ALMOST. I'll spare you many (not all, of course) of the details, but to make a long story not quite as long, I got this thing called mastitis, and my nipple turned to something so disgusting (what? You didn't want to hear about my nipple?) that I am actually going to SPARE you by NOT posting the picture that I took of my nipple with my cell phone. The same picture that I may or may not have sent via text message to my doctor. OH YES I DID.

Yeah, that was an awkward text message. It was like, "Hi, Dr. It's Megan. This is awkward, but I'm going to send you a picture of my messed up nipple because my husband actually starts to gag every time I go to use the breast pump. We're concerned. Please send help."

My doctor called me and was all OH MY GOD GET TO THE ER RIGHT NOW. Yeah, that's how nasty it was.

So off I went. But the cute ER doctor (awkward moment number 874 of becoming a mother) simply confirmed I had mastitis and told me to keep taking the (second)antibiotic that I'd been prescribed. He also gave me pain meds, because I could tell even HE was a little...well, "put off" by the state of the nipple. Also I told him that pumping and/or breastfeeding elicited a pain comparable, if not worse, than giving birth. Wheeeee!

Three days later, mastitis is not gone, fever is back with a vengence, and I'm back in the doctor's office. And then I'm being told I have MRSA! Do you know what that is? Me either, but I think it stands for Must Really Suck Ass, because it did. And then I had to get a different antibiotic that cost a million gazillion dollars. So many dollars that I can't even say it out loud on the internets because I work in healthcare and part of my job is minimizing health care dollar expenditures and OH MY GOD the price of this prescription made me blush and cuss in front of the little pharmacy assistant. Oops.

And remember all my breast feeding drama? Well, this antibiotic that cost me a gazillion dollars hasn't been proven to be safe for my baby while breastfeeding, so to keep up my supply I had to pump and dump. To be honest, I was ready to throw in the towel at this point. But the Internet told me that only devil worshippers feed their children baby formula, and the crazy Le Leche people were like, MUST BREASTFEED EVEN IF YOU ARE ON YOUR DEATH BED and so I found myself succumbing to this peer pressure and sticking with it. So for the past the past 10 days I have been pumping and dumping what little I am producing. For those of you who have ever pumped breast milk, you know that dumping it out is like dumping LIQUID GOLD down the drain. LIQUID GOLD I tell you.

But now I'm back! And I'm better! And I'm alive! And thanks to my husband, our son is still here too!

And these past four days that I've (finally!) been alone with him have not been quite as terrifying as I thought they would be.

So onward an upward! For now, my days consist of smooching my baby, watching reruns of Mad Men, and pumping liquid gold from my body. Now that the babes and I are getting into the swing of things, I hope to blog more than every few years or so.

Maybe someday I'll even blog about something other than my crazy nipple. Stay tuned!

In the meantime, here is proof that my baby boy has, in fact, continued to thrive despite my attempting to poison him with formula. Happy 1 month b-day son! You're seriously worth it. I promise you that.



P.S. Shout out to my fab hubs, my Mom and Ang for taking care of me and my sweet little baby cakes while I was down and out.