Let's try again...
...that's better.
My little stud muffin is one month old!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
I'm In Love with the 10 lb. Meatloaf That Rules My World
I'm loving this little chapter of life I've found myself in, even if I'm too worn out to know what day it is sometimes. Everybody says the newborn phase goes by super quickly and to enjoy every second. I'm taking that advice and living by it. Sure, I'm losing sleep, but it's only temporary-ish. And besides, what I'm giving up in zzz's I'm more than making up for in simple precious moments with just my baby and me.
I know I'm spoiled because I have a mellow, happy baby, but I don't take for granted for one moment how lucky I am to have a child whose needs are so basic and simple that a four ounce bottle of formula is the solution to 75% of his problems. When I look at him, he's just so perfect. He doesn't have stitches in his forehead from falling out of bed (me, age 5) or a blown-out knee from a career-ending basketball injury (Steve, age 18). He cries, but it's not from pain, disappointment or hurt feelings. Years from now, I'll long for the days where a baby bottle is all it takes to dry the tears and make him feel better.
Before I know it, this little baby will be growing up and living his own life. He'll have his own schedule, his own social life. He'll ask me to stop calling him "peanut" in public. And all of those things will happen before he enters Kindergarten. Years will pass, and he'll meet somebody whose opinion and advice he seeks above mine. He'll be all grown up. Never again will I get to experience quietly feeding him and rocking him to sleep in my arms. I may not be able to slow the hands of time, but I can enjoy the time I have. He's a full-time job, but he's by far my greatest joy.
Sorry, that was mushy. That's not what my blog is known for. To balance out this post, here is a video from 2007 of Britney Spears stoned and eating chicken fingers with Kevin Federline. It's a classic.
I know I'm spoiled because I have a mellow, happy baby, but I don't take for granted for one moment how lucky I am to have a child whose needs are so basic and simple that a four ounce bottle of formula is the solution to 75% of his problems. When I look at him, he's just so perfect. He doesn't have stitches in his forehead from falling out of bed (me, age 5) or a blown-out knee from a career-ending basketball injury (Steve, age 18). He cries, but it's not from pain, disappointment or hurt feelings. Years from now, I'll long for the days where a baby bottle is all it takes to dry the tears and make him feel better.
Before I know it, this little baby will be growing up and living his own life. He'll have his own schedule, his own social life. He'll ask me to stop calling him "peanut" in public. And all of those things will happen before he enters Kindergarten. Years will pass, and he'll meet somebody whose opinion and advice he seeks above mine. He'll be all grown up. Never again will I get to experience quietly feeding him and rocking him to sleep in my arms. I may not be able to slow the hands of time, but I can enjoy the time I have. He's a full-time job, but he's by far my greatest joy.
Sorry, that was mushy. That's not what my blog is known for. To balance out this post, here is a video from 2007 of Britney Spears stoned and eating chicken fingers with Kevin Federline. It's a classic.
Friday, August 20, 2010
A Fairytale Post Script
As much as I loathe being spiteful, I have to say that this couldn't have happened to a more deserving person. I'm impressed by the speed with which she was unceremoniously thrown out on her caboose. I worked for that corporation for quite some time, and they generally give management ample rope to hang themselves with before making a move. Getting canned in under three months is all at once astonishing and extremely validating. I'd like to celebrate with a song and dance. I can't use the song I want. Stinkin' copyright infringement...but you know it anyway:
She's gone where the goblins go below,
Below, below, yo-ho
Let's open up and sing
and ring the bells out
Ding-dong the merry-oh
sing it high, sing it low
Let them know the wicked witch is dead!
...picture me struttin' that ass to this song.
I don't know who delivered the fatal blow. I'm assuming it was my Fairy Godmother. I'd like to send her a singing telegram from The Lullaby League and The Lollipop Guild, for she will be a bust, be a bust, be a bust in the Hall of Fame!
I can't say I'm loving this vindictive streak I'm experiencing. I'm not one to wish harm upon people. I have always hated the expression, "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." Don't you find it off-putting? Undoubtedly, whenever somebody uses that expression, they are referring to things that are truly horrible, like cancer, house fires, and dead puppies. You wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy? REALLY?! Sure, I can be a salty bitch when needed, but even I don't use that expression or wish things on my enemies. Ok, maybe I'd wish a few things on my enemies:
1. I've wished for them to get fat.
2. I've wished for them to be audited by the IRS.
3. I've wished for them to lose their job or for their business to fail.
There, I said it. Feel free to judge me. I'm still flying high on the news of Ursula's demise.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Crazy in Alabama
Here in Texas, we like our firearms, but this is a little ridiculous. I hope Jarred realizes that any email he sends me related to his crazy, dysfunctional co-workers is subject to publishing on this blog:
Overheard a conversation between my boss, his youngest son, and his wife. This is a direct transcript to the best of my recollection. My boss has undiagnosed OCD/Tourette's so the repetition was not embellished.
Andy: Got a notice today that a house was broken into down the street.
Boss: You need to get a shotgun.
Andy: It said no one was home but they took the TV and computers.
Boss: Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun
Andy: Well I was thinking about an alarm
Boss: shotgun, shotgun, shotgun, shotgun
Andy: I don't know if that'd help, I went to my friends house and he has a loaded gun in the kitchen drawer, several guns in a safe, and a loaded gun on his nightstand that he puts on top of his Bible every night.
Boss: No, shotgun, shotgun, don't get a pistol. You get a pistol and you will shoot yourself in the leg or the gut. No one ever shoots themself with a shotgun.
Jarred: Tell that to Kurt Cobain.
Boss: And if you get a pistol a robber will just steal it.
Wife: Why would the robber steal a pistol but not a shotgun?
Boss: Nah he needs a shotgun. shotgun, shotgun
I considered myself a pretty conservative person before i started working here. a straight forward republican. but this conversation made my skin crawl. made me want to drive a hybrid. made me want to vote for Ralph Nader. made me want to live in a tree in Berkley, CA. this place is turning me into a bleeding heart liberal!
Overheard a conversation between my boss, his youngest son, and his wife. This is a direct transcript to the best of my recollection. My boss has undiagnosed OCD/Tourette's so the repetition was not embellished.
Andy: Got a notice today that a house was broken into down the street.
Boss: You need to get a shotgun.
Andy: It said no one was home but they took the TV and computers.
Boss: Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun
Andy: Well I was thinking about an alarm
Boss: shotgun, shotgun, shotgun, shotgun
Andy: I don't know if that'd help, I went to my friends house and he has a loaded gun in the kitchen drawer, several guns in a safe, and a loaded gun on his nightstand that he puts on top of his Bible every night.
Boss: No, shotgun, shotgun, don't get a pistol. You get a pistol and you will shoot yourself in the leg or the gut. No one ever shoots themself with a shotgun.
Jarred: Tell that to Kurt Cobain.
Boss: And if you get a pistol a robber will just steal it.
Wife: Why would the robber steal a pistol but not a shotgun?
Boss: Nah he needs a shotgun. shotgun, shotgun
I considered myself a pretty conservative person before i started working here. a straight forward republican. but this conversation made my skin crawl. made me want to drive a hybrid. made me want to vote for Ralph Nader. made me want to live in a tree in Berkley, CA. this place is turning me into a bleeding heart liberal!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
A Day In the Life
What have I been doing, besides not blogging? Babies keep strange hours that aren't conducive to a productive, functioning adult lifestyle. Sort of like Lindsay Lohan. Because we live on a 24-hour baby care schedule, my days are running together and I often can't account for how I spent my time. Let's see if this helps jog my memory:
1:00 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. We watch Cheaters. I wonder where this show has been all my life. It's like Masterpiece Theatre meets Jerry Springer. I laugh so hard I startle the baby.
1:30 AM: After an impressive burp, Robinson spits up all over himself, all over me, and all over the couch, and then promptly falls asleep in his own baby puke. I quickly wipe up the couch as best I can, and then take him to his room, where I sponge bathe him, change his diaper, change his clothes, and swaddle him. Better make it a double-swaddle, he's a sqirmy little nugget. I put him down in his bassinet and change my pajamas.
2:00 AM: Unable to sleep, I research treatments for baby acne on the internet. My beautiful, perfect baby cannot have a rash on his face. While doing this, I watch Amazing Cakes and recall how much I used to love looking at wedding cakes in Martha Stewart Weddings.
3:15 AM: I finally fall asleep.
3:30 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. An infomercial for some skincare line endorsed by the Kardashians is on. While watching the sisters Kardashian sell zit cream, I remember that I am currently wearing the Belly Bandit, a post-pregnancy compression garment endorsed by Kourtney Kardashian, and that yesterday I ran across ads for Quick Trim diet pills starring a couple of Kardashians in my Us Weekly. I change the channel and wonder if the Kardashians would take a dump in a box and sell that if it would make them enough money to pay for laser hair removal.
4:00 AM: Robinson is wide awake and doesn't want to be put back in his bassinet. We watch Married...With Children. I realize what an underrated sitcom this is. Unlike other sitcoms of yesteryear, it really stands the test of time. I also consider the possibility of dressing as Peg Bundy for Halloween. I already have the perfect belt and shoes...
4:30 AM: Now enjoying a peaceful slumber, I slowly set Robinson down in his bassinet. This time, I have no trouble falling asleep.
6:30 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. Steve's awake and getting ready for work, the dogs are awake and frolicking through the house. Everybody is awake and morning is upon us. I try to watch the news and the Today show, but I'm unable to pay attention to much beyond the baby bottle. After a good burp, I change his diaper and dress Robinson for the day.
7:30 AM: Operating on less than four hours of sleep isn't optimal, so I decide to nap while Robinson naps.
9:30 AM: Mom calls
10:00 AM: Robinson is hungry. Hoda Kotb and Kathie Lee Gifford are drinking wine at 10:00 AM. I discover that I like Kathie Lee a whole lot more than I thought I did. I also realize that every time I see her, I get that Carnival Cruise Line jingle stuck in my head. The one she used to sing when she was their spokesperson, like 20 years ago.
11:00 AM: Comfortably situated in his bouncy seat under the watchful eye of Laney, I do the dishes, the laundry, fold Robinson's clothes, burp cloths, and receiving blankets and put them away.
12:00 PM: Robinson is dozed off in his bouncy chair. If I don't shower now, I may never get the chance. I move Robinson and his bouncy seat to the bathroom. After doing hair and makeup, I change into some clean loungewear. You can wear pajamas all day long, as long as you call it "loungewear". Write that down.
1:30 PM: Feed and change Robinson.
2:00 PM: Put Robinson in his bassinet. Pick him up again. Snuggle with him. Stare at him as he sleeps. Notice he's holding my index finger. Then he makes a funny pose with his hands. Take a picture and send it to my brother at work.
4:00 PM: Feed and change Robinson.
6:00 PM: Start cooking dinner. Remember that I have dogs. Feed the dogs.
7:00 PM: Feed and change Robinson
7:30 PM: Steve gets home from work, we eat dinner. I propose a no-feeding-Robinson-in-the-bed policy to prevent spit-up in our bed.
8:00 PM: Steve feeds Robinson. In our bed.
10:00 PM: I watch Chelsea Lately. Robinson is hungry again. Exhausted, I feed him in the bed, breaking our rule...
10:10 PM: Robinson projectile vomits all over the sheets, bed frame, carpet, and me. I strip the bed, clean the carpet, change my clothes. Surprisingly, Robinson escaped unscathed.
11:00 PM: Without spare sheets to put on our bed, Steve settles in on the couch, and Robinson and I relocate to the guest bedroom.
11:30 PM: Since Robinson spit-up most of the last bottle, he's already hungry again. I feed him and try not to fall asleep sitting up.
1:00 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. We watch Cheaters. I wonder where this show has been all my life. It's like Masterpiece Theatre meets Jerry Springer. I laugh so hard I startle the baby.
1:30 AM: After an impressive burp, Robinson spits up all over himself, all over me, and all over the couch, and then promptly falls asleep in his own baby puke. I quickly wipe up the couch as best I can, and then take him to his room, where I sponge bathe him, change his diaper, change his clothes, and swaddle him. Better make it a double-swaddle, he's a sqirmy little nugget. I put him down in his bassinet and change my pajamas.
2:00 AM: Unable to sleep, I research treatments for baby acne on the internet. My beautiful, perfect baby cannot have a rash on his face. While doing this, I watch Amazing Cakes and recall how much I used to love looking at wedding cakes in Martha Stewart Weddings.
3:15 AM: I finally fall asleep.
3:30 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. An infomercial for some skincare line endorsed by the Kardashians is on. While watching the sisters Kardashian sell zit cream, I remember that I am currently wearing the Belly Bandit, a post-pregnancy compression garment endorsed by Kourtney Kardashian, and that yesterday I ran across ads for Quick Trim diet pills starring a couple of Kardashians in my Us Weekly. I change the channel and wonder if the Kardashians would take a dump in a box and sell that if it would make them enough money to pay for laser hair removal.
7:30 AM: Operating on less than four hours of sleep isn't optimal, so I decide to nap while Robinson naps.
9:30 AM: Mom calls
10:00 AM: Robinson is hungry. Hoda Kotb and Kathie Lee Gifford are drinking wine at 10:00 AM. I discover that I like Kathie Lee a whole lot more than I thought I did. I also realize that every time I see her, I get that Carnival Cruise Line jingle stuck in my head. The one she used to sing when she was their spokesperson, like 20 years ago.
11:00 AM: Comfortably situated in his bouncy seat under the watchful eye of Laney, I do the dishes, the laundry, fold Robinson's clothes, burp cloths, and receiving blankets and put them away.
12:00 PM: Robinson is dozed off in his bouncy chair. If I don't shower now, I may never get the chance. I move Robinson and his bouncy seat to the bathroom. After doing hair and makeup, I change into some clean loungewear. You can wear pajamas all day long, as long as you call it "loungewear". Write that down.
1:30 PM: Feed and change Robinson.
2:00 PM: Put Robinson in his bassinet. Pick him up again. Snuggle with him. Stare at him as he sleeps. Notice he's holding my index finger. Then he makes a funny pose with his hands. Take a picture and send it to my brother at work.
4:00 PM: Feed and change Robinson.
6:00 PM: Start cooking dinner. Remember that I have dogs. Feed the dogs.
7:00 PM: Feed and change Robinson
7:30 PM: Steve gets home from work, we eat dinner. I propose a no-feeding-Robinson-in-the-bed policy to prevent spit-up in our bed.
8:00 PM: Steve feeds Robinson. In our bed.
10:00 PM: I watch Chelsea Lately. Robinson is hungry again. Exhausted, I feed him in the bed, breaking our rule...
10:10 PM: Robinson projectile vomits all over the sheets, bed frame, carpet, and me. I strip the bed, clean the carpet, change my clothes. Surprisingly, Robinson escaped unscathed.
11:00 PM: Without spare sheets to put on our bed, Steve settles in on the couch, and Robinson and I relocate to the guest bedroom.
11:30 PM: Since Robinson spit-up most of the last bottle, he's already hungry again. I feed him and try not to fall asleep sitting up.
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