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Dramababy

babies, Dramababy, Mom Stuff, Preg Stuff, Sharing, Toddlers, You think you know but you have no idea

Confession Saturday: I’m terrified of my unborn child. But also most parts of Science.

June 9, 2012

There’s a couple of things I’m scared of right now.

1) Parallel universes and quantum mechanics in general. See, I’ve been watching an unhealthy amount of The Science Channel…specifically Through the Wormhole. Like, I watched 4 hour episodes and I’m desperately trying to watch them again. They are usually about how science and space will kill us. Then I spend and hour telling B about it. “B the atoms are both positive AND negative. HOW CAN THAT BE?!” If I was triple smarter than I am, I’d be a scientist. But I’m a blogger. So that went well.

2) “I Survived”. I still think a man is tracking my daily activity whilst (yep, whilst) hiding in my attic, waiting for the right moment to kill me.

-I need to watch less tv- (never)

3) my unborn child.

Ok so 3 doesn’t really fit in. Well, unless in my head #3 was planted in my uterus by my parallel self in a black hole. And I’m not that bat shit. Yet. No I’m really just afraid of what I’m in for. For those of you who have been with me since G’s birth, you know we had a hell of a time. For those who weren’t, I’ll brief you.

G was “colicky”, although I hate that word. It basically means he was a really tough ass of a baby and cried all the time and because no one knew exactly why,  and they slapped that word on him. He was intolerant to everything I ate through my breast milk. He never ever NEVER slept. And on top of it all, I had post partum depression and found myself eating my own placenta,  in counseling and on anxiety medication. I cried all the time. This blog became a big sad clown. And it was the hardest time of my life. And now I feel like I have a bomb in my belly.

our baby bomb

(like Bombs over Baghdad, except pregnantier)

Am I bound for this again?

Every time that I am out in public my eyes are peeled for moms with an infant and a toddler who is G’s age. Then I stare at them inappropriately for an uncomfortable length of time. I just want to know the secret. How are they doing it? What contraptions are they using? Or is there no secret? Are the moms a giant mess? Are they crying all the time? I look very very closely for smudged mascara and swollen eyes. Usually I gain nothing from my investigation. Sometimes I see moms with kids who are G’s age who are pregnant. These moms usually get harassed directly by me.

Me: HI!!!!! How far along are you? How old is your son? Are you scared? Are you nervous? Do you have help? Are you having more after this? What’s your social security number?

Mom: Ummm…(silence) Oh I think my phone is ringing. Sorry….

Me: Oh that’s ok we’ll talk later. I’ll just follow you around until your ready.

And then strangely I don’t really ever get the answers that I was looking for. I feel like it’s a secret club that meets in a tunnel by the factory. I don’t know what factory, but that’s what I picture. It’s super secret and radio transmitters are involved. When I was pregnant with G, I thought moms had those meeting with 1 kid and I was pretty much right. Looking now at the pregs with their first kid, I’m always like, oh man you are about to go through a majah learning curve. Just making mom friends alone is 3 chapters in the secret book that we don’t let you read until you actually have the baby. None of it is fair really.

I mean let’s be honest, those books that we do actually read are useless. We’d eventually figure out how to change the baby’s damn diaper and put a bottle or a boob in their mouths, but we would not figure out how to find the mom friends who don’t constantly compare their own child to the likes of Einstein (baby version or not). We would not figure out how to shower when you’re home alone with a screaming baby for 8 hours a day. We would probably not figure out how to deal when you realize you hate your husband and every other person with a beating heart. It’s a tough world out there for the new mom and I feel like I’m about to enter it all over again, just as green as I was 2 years ago.

Now that G is older, he’s a spunky kid. He’s great, like really funny and outgoing and social. But he’s a spunk ass. He will scream at me if I don’t immediately understand his half ass sign language combination babble request for the specific banana that is at the bottom of the bowl and that he wants to hold the peel and that if I cut it up, I’m doing a serious injustice to humanity. Scream. But he’s my son and he’s just like his mom. I mean, I get it.

So how will my spunk monster handle Yoshi? Is he going to grab her tail and pull her across the room while trying to give her “kisses”? (I only have my cat to compare this to). But how am I going to handle this? Really how am I going to do this?

So this is my plea:

I know I’m not in the club yet. I know I haven’t been invited to the factory tunnel meetings yet and I didn’t get my radio transmitter in the mail yet. But maybe, MAYBE you can let me in of some of the secrets you talk about. Maybe you can tell me how I’m going to make this work with very little help, home alone all day with CHILDREN.

Also if you want to talk Science and Space with me too, I’m totally down.

Thanks Team Internet,

MODG

 

**UPDATE**

Any mention of a “her” or a girl baby is totally subconscious. Seems like I’m willing a vagina with my brain. Crossies. But no, we don’t know the sex yet.

There’s a couple of things I’m scared of right now. 1) Parallel universes and quantum mechanics in general. See,…

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babies, Dramababy, Mom Stuff, Not Pleased

After you cry about your dramababy, then you laugh about it. While he cries about it: THE FIRST HAIRCUT.

March 14, 2012

I sincerely thank you all for your thoughtful and insightful comments on the previous post. I don’t know how any mom does it without 300,000 people helping her through the hard times. So thank you.

And now that we’ve vented, we can pull on our big girl spanx and move on.

Today we’re talking about a huge moment in every mom’s life and a huge moment in a child’s.

THE FIRST HAIRCUT.

Most kids I should point out, get a haircut within the first year. G however, despite being the straight decedent to 2 legitimate pre-evolutionary gorillas, has like no hair. Well, no hair EXCEPT in the back. That spells M-U-L-L-E-T. Which spells haircut also. Spelling is weird.

B doesn’t care about much, but man alive does he care about hair. Mainly his own. But also G’s. Everyday I hear this conversation:

G: DIS DIS DIS

B: Hi bud!

G: baaaaaaaaaah dadadada

B: WHAT is going on with your hair?

G: AAAAAH

B: It looks ridiculous.

(next day)

B: Where is your hair? I thought it was going to grow?

(next day)

B: No hair yet? Really? man.

 

So the haircut was a big F-ING deal.

We decided to do it with his friend. We thought that would make it a little easier, if the 2 of them did it together. I will tell you the rest of the story in pictures.

Kids, your hair is embarrassing. Wear your hoods. Ok, it’s cold, but also embarrassing.

The 4 Seasons Salon and Spa was booked. This was our 2nd choice. The idea however that a small tube tv from 1985 showing the Flintstones would make the child just forget about the razor swinging towards his face was fairly laughable.

And just when you think babies are stupid, G escapes like he knows his future happiness as a child is anywhere except inside of Cartoon Cuts.

This is where the child attempts logic and reasoning with me. G “But mom, let’s just go to the shoe store you like, you can try on those blue pumps you wanted and then we’ll head over to J.Crew. What do you say?” I don’t know G….that does sound pretty good… Then B ruins the fun and says TO THE HAIRCUT. NOW.

What’s this? We’re going to trap all of your appendages under this blue constraining sheet, show you a duck and razor your head? You know, regular stuff.

OH NO YOU AREN’T. GET THAT SHIT AWAY FROM ME!

OHMYGOD OHMYGOD. WHAT IS GOING ON? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME. GET THAT ASSHOLE DUCK OUT OF MY FACE. THIS IS NOT A TIME FOR DUCKS. MAYBE FU…AAAAAAAAAAH!

Dude. Seriously? You are embarrassing me. This is so not a big deal. We’re going to look so hot after this. But you need to chill. There are girl babies in here and this is really not cool of you.

 

At this point the decibel level of G’s screaming was unbearable. The woman “cutting” his hair spoke in an accent and as soft as a low talker could get. She’s all “excuse me is this a good length whisper whisper” and G is like “BAAAAAAAAAAAHKILLEVERYONEBAAAAAH” and me and B are like? WHAT? WHAT? WE CAN’T HEAR YOU. And that’s how G ended up with a map of the southern hemisphere as a haircut.

I will show you

 

And we end the day with a Merry Go Round ride because G was so “good” for his haircut. I know. Call supernanny now.

We love you handsome little dramababy. Scream all you want. I’ll always be louder.

 

xoxo

MODG

________________________________________

The trials and tribulations of G’s first hair was brought to you by the fine folks at Scentsy. You can see their ad in the top sidebar. They have lovely little candles and lotions and wonderful smelling type things. But I really love the stuffed animals that you can put next to the diaper pail that make the smell of shit go away. That my friends, is genius. I’m also a fan of the warmers. I think these are really awesome looking. Email samantha.fryer27 at gmail dot com for your free awesome thing with your purchase.

 

And if you’d like to be a featured advertiser, email me at modgblog at gmail dot com.

 

I sincerely thank you all for your thoughtful and insightful comments on the previous post. I don’t know how…

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Dramababy, Mom Stuff, You think you know but you have no idea

Learning to accept your child for who they are. Almost like learning advanced Physics. *hard*

March 12, 2012

Being a mom is a giant 72lb backpack of guilt that you carry around 24 hours a day. (When you sleep it sits on your face). Also, mixed into that bag is a few cans of worry and containers of ohshit.

We just got back from our first trip away with G since October. We went to visit some friends in Virginia who also have a baby a little younger than G. I should begin this tale by telling you that he is an angel. Like one of those kids who you can get all up in their face, scream curse words at, break their toys and take their food while they smile happily at you, offering to share whatever it is you would like. He’s adorable and I love him.

But when  you have a child like G and he is with angel baby for 48 hours, the high neediness of G  really smacks you in the face. It’s kind of like you don’t realize how fat you are until you see your friend whose size 23 waist is just too tiny for that Herve Ledger dress. And then you run home and throw out your entire chocolate covered chocolate stash.

And what you feel is guilt. You feel incredibly guilty for wishing your child was any other way than how he is. There is a quote that I read daily that helps me out with G. Here it is:

Motherhood is about raising and celebrating the child you have, not the child you thought you would have. It’s about understanding that he is exactly the person he is supposed to be. And that, if you’re lucky, he just might be the teacher who turns you into the person you are supposed to be.” – Joan Ryan

I know, sap tree in your face. Sorry. I take whatever I can get to get me through the day.

So I’ll admit, on this trip while wonder baby is happily interacting with adults, playing nicely and G is screaming at the wall for no reason, I cried a bit. I cried for the guilt that I was feeling and a bit because I felt like I was mourning the loss of ever having a  content happy child. I just know that G will never be wonder baby. And although that is OK and he is who is he, it’s a “sentence” for us as parents. People say to us “parenting a child like that will be tough for a long time” or “You guys are good parents, you’re working really hard”. Yes we work very hard to get through the day. And every day is still one day at a time. Sometimes and hour at a time. And I can’t help but sometimes feel envious of all the wonder babies’ parents out there.

I remind myself that as G gets older he will continue to be passionate and have a spark in life and will speak his mind. Those are all super wonderful things. But for now, getting through the hour or 15 minutes without crying or whining is ultimately and never endingly exhausting.

So today happened to be G’s 15 month appointment. I thought the doctor would be concerned about his poops that are mud pies in his pants or how he will only eat chicken nuggets or fishsticks. But he was only concerned with his temperament. Terms like ADHD came up. **(I need to clarify this. The doctor said “It’s too early to consider ADHD yet”. But the mere mention of the word freaked me out. He is a great doctor.)  And I had to choke back tears with all of my might as I answered the doctor’s questions:

D: Is he affectionate?

Me: No.

D: not at all?

Me: No, he prefers running to hugging.

D: Does he get frustrated easily?

Me: Yes and then he just wants to hit things.

D: writes things down…(I hate when they write things down).

And the doctor sent me away with some homeopathic remedy to calm him down and for some signs to watch for. And I died a little inside. It’s not like I was sad because he was sick with a fever or cold. I was sad because of who he is as a person. And as a mother there is something wrong with that. And there is that backpack of guilt again. On my face no less.

And so we came home and played outside today. We looked at flowers and grass and dirt. And then G sort of looked at me for a minute, came up to me and put his head in my lap. He sat up and gave me a hug and a kiss. Then he just stayed there for a while. It was like he knew I needed it. I was struggling and he was saying “hey mom, I love you, here’s a hug. I’m not super affectionate but neither are you. And you’re cool.” And I cried again.

We all want the best for our kids and we want them to be happy. Seeing your kid cry more during the day than not, is heartbreaking. Comparing them to other kids is heartbreaking-er. Because you feel like a bad parent.

I know that we’ll be OK. There are lots of other kids out there with harder struggles to face than a tough personality and lots of other parents who have to deal with worse (there’s that backpack again).

I will remind myself of the person he is, who he’ll become and if we’re lucky he’ll be something great. Like a blogger.

Setting our sights high.

DramaMama,

MODG

 

 

 

Being a mom is a giant 72lb backpack of guilt that you carry around 24 hours a day. (When…

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babies, Dramababy, Mom Stuff, Not Pleased

Where exactly do they learn to throw themselves onto the floor and writhe around as if snakes are in their clothes?

March 5, 2012

Toddlers. I am not cut out for toddlers. I think the only ones who are cut out for toddlers are those people in the south who put tiaras on them.

First I need to know which one of your children came to my house in the middle of the night and taught G how to tantrum? Because HE KNOWS. Oh does he know. And I know B didn’t teach him. And I definitely didn’t teach him. Well, unless he saw me in my room discovering the Bachelor not recording. Then maybe I did teach him.

Last night the 3 of us are doing our nightly attempt at eating a family dinner. I call this the hilarious joke of the day. Because G wakes up from his afternoon nap and is starved and wants to eat cheese and yogurt and fruit and the wall and the floor. And because I’m cooking, I can’t deal with the war that will wage if he doesn’t get either 1) attention or 2) food. Ideally he wants both. But who doesn’t? So in the hour it takes to make dinner, G is not interested.

I’ve been doing this thing where I let him sit on my lap while we eat and he eats off of my plate. Then this thing happens when I let him do stuff he wants. I picture an 18 year old sitting on my lap eating off of my plate. Or and 18 year old sleeping in my bed. Or an 18 year old pooping in his underwear. Not that his mom did that when she was 24 or anything.

So I said, No G you are going to eat your dinner in your high chair.

HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS BUNNIES. He literally choked himself from the screaming.

G: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH HOLY SHIT I’M GOING TO DIE IF YOU DON’T PUT ME ON YOUR LAP NOOOOOOOOOOOOW!

Me: (to B) Um, what do we do?

B: Let’s tell him why he has to sit there.

Me: Ok, G, you have to sit there beca-

G: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!

Me: now what?

B: I don’t know, take him out?

Me: Then he learns that if he screams he gets what he wants?

B: Just like you learned.

Me: (DEATH RAY SIDE EYE)

G: YOU ARE ALL DEAD TO ME UNLESS YOU PUT ME ON YOUR LAP NOOOOOOW!

And what do I do? The worst thing I could do. I take him out. I’m already pre-applying to Super Nanny because I can see my future already. I’m in trouble with my “strong willed” child.

I mean what is the right thing to do here? I want to have a happy little kid who hears “yes” a lot. I want him to learn by experience. Like go ahead, experience that mud puddle. Sure, experience eating a worm. And yes, go ahead and experience throwing the cat shit out of the litter box and chasing it. But don’t actually do that. I’ll flip out if you do that. And don’t show me any bugs you find. I’ll also flip my shit on that one. But yes EXPERIENCE THE WORLD.

But then there are times that we have to say no. And trust, G hears no a lot. NO G, don’t pull the glass lamp on your head. No, don’t stick your hand into an open flame. No, I’d like you not stick your hand in your poop diaper and rub it into your hair. And No, you can’t eat a container of red cupcake sprinkles.

But tantrums are new. And I know it’s normal. But I don’t want to be an asshole about it. And I keep picturing G with a future sibling who is breastfeeding while G is dumping the plant over the cat.

Toddler tantrums. Help. He’s only 1. I’m not sure how I feel about time outs. I’m not sure how I feel about ear plugs. Better than time outs.

Save me internet.

(cry for help)

MODG

_________________________________________

The ability for me to ask you for help and a peek into my failure as a mom was brought to you by the fine folks at Cloth Diaper Finder. Imagine being a new to cloth mom who just found out about modern cloth diapers and not having any clue what is out there so you just browse through over 240+ diapers (i.e. me a year ago).  Or, imagine being an insanely picky mother who HAS to have natural fibers against the baby’s skin and a One Size, Snapping Diaper that is a Pocket but the insert agitates out, it has to cost less than $20, comes in cool prints, and it has to be made in Pakistan.  You can look to see if that diaper exists. (PS- it does not.) I believe that this is most bad ass thing to happen to cloth diapers since they started washing themselves.  Wait…

 

Toddlers. I am not cut out for toddlers. I think the only ones who are cut out for toddlers…

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babies, Dramababy, Mom Stuff, Not Pleased

It’s a mournful day at MODG.

January 31, 2012

Dudes. World=rocked.

I’m officially in mourning. G has recovered nicely from his billion germ sickness and as the virus died so did something else. Something I’ll never get back. Something I loved dearly and held close to my heart every single day.

THE SECOND NAP.

I heard rumblings of this thing that these toddlers do, but it seemed so awful and horrific, that I brushed it off as ugly  baby rumors. There is no way MY child is giving up his second nap. He sleeps and hour and a half in both the morning AND afternoon. No, I’m not lucky. I’m smart. It took me a long time to get there and it was not easy. And that is why I was never giving up that 2nd nap. I planned to read Goodnight Moon (which is the dumbest book ever) to him twice a day in college.

But just like that, it was snatched out from under me.

Once G started “playing” in his crib for an hour, I knew it was done. I would come in and the humidifier would be on the floor, all the shit in his crib would be on the floor and he’d be breakdancing and rapping. Yeah, it was done.

And turns out in our “trial run” G was more than ready for full on awake time from 7-12. The child didn’t miss a beat. HOW CAN THIS BE? DOESN’T HE KNOW I NEED THAT TIME?

Please understand, I adore and love my child and I love playing with him. But he still doesn’t let me open the refrigerator without a melt down. And it’s the G show all the damn time.  I’m ok with this. He’s “spirted”. Which is what I’ve learned teachers call the crazy ass kids. But dudes, my internet time is cut in half. Remember The Project? Yeah the whole working out thing? That happened during the morning nap. And it took me a freaking year to figure that one out.

Do you know what else happened during the morning nap? Things like, brushing my teeth, pooping, putting on clothes and brushing my hair.

Yesterday was my first day on my own with G for the 1 nap day. And for the first time in 13.5 months, I felt like a stay at home mom. Now I know that sounds Britney to you, but listen: Before I had a baby. He would nap, we would play a little. We would eat some food and repeat. The actual stuff that happened in between naps was all well and good, but he was a baby so I could throw paper on the floor and be like “GAME!”. Now I’m a mom to a toddler. A toddler who totally needs me to stimulate him and teach him things. THINGS! And that my friends in pressure.

Ok maybe I should have been doing more of this before, but we really do the best that we can with a kid who just needs us and attention so much.

So yet again I’m coming to you guys. Please help me. How do I make this transition easier? How do I not be a delinquent mother and actually do things with my child that are fun and good for him?

Am I really a stay at home mom now?

PS.

I am butt ass sick. I caught the Croup. Apparently in adults croup= we’ll clog up all the holes in your face so it all has to drip down your throat.

PPS

I’m writing this during my one and only break today. You’re welcome.

Dudes. World=rocked. I’m officially in mourning. G has recovered nicely from his billion germ sickness and as the virus…

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babies, Dramababy, Mom Stuff, Not Pleased, Vom stuff

There’s really no good reason to read this. Unless you like ultimate sadness and poop pictures.

January 26, 2012

Raise your hand if you know what croup is?

If you answered a combination of crap and poop YOU ARE CORRECT.

However I also found out very quickly that it is a baby virus sent to torture sweet little smushy baby faces all around the world (and their parents). Right smack dab in the middle of my boob lump drama, G caught croup. He caught it somehow, in the dark, in his crib, in the middle of the night. I think he’s hiding shit under his mattress. Like rusty nails and saliva from friends.

We wake up to the most horrid sounding cough you can imagine. I thought my son had become a seal. Because the cough literally sounds like a barking seal. It’s HORRIFIC. The child then had trouble breathing. Like for serious you guys. I brought him into our bed and was quickly reminded how happy I am that we no longer co-sleep. So I ended up sleeping on his nursery floor while he would do this

sleep
15 minutes
seal bark SCREAM stop breathing
*trip to the steam bathroom*
sleep
15 minutes
seal bark SCREAM stop breathing
mom loses her shit
Dad takes G outside in the FREEZING cold to get night air
mom cries in a corner
sleep
15 minutes
seal bark SCREAM stop breathing

ALL.NIGHT.LONG.

I debated taking him to the ER but I’m a queen over reactor so I thought I’d be a sensible mom and wait it out.
Sensible moms are assholes.

Because not 15 minutes after sitting with the doctor, he sent us to the hospital for xrays for PNEUMONIA.
jesusgod people. BABY PNEUMONIA.

I called B in hysterics.

Me: MY BABY MY BABY
B: It’s ok, I’ll meet you there in 15 minutes
Me: SOB SOB SOB
B: IT WILL BE OK
Me: MY BAAAAABY
B: Just DRIVE.

Do you know what is sad? Yes, those Sarah McLaughlin animal commercials. I agree. But so is a tiny child getting a chest xray. But he did not have pneumonia. Thank god. He was then admitted directly to the ER because he was “working to breathe”. What a TERRIBLE sentence.

I’ll wait while you get a bandaid for your heart.

He got a tiny little breathing treatment that made him look like a dragon, some steroids and lots of fever reducer because it was 103.3 ja;sldkjfa;lskdjfa;lksdjf
My poor little monkey who bounces off the walls couldn’t even sit up. I cried maybe every odd hour.

The only thing that made the child happy the next day was a warm steamy bath. So happy that for the first time ladies and gentlemen, he shit in the tub. WARNING, I’M GOING TO SHOW YOU THE SHIT. IF YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE IT. DON’T LOOK.

NOW STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT SEEING IT. Because I am the one who had to get the very sick child out and fish the poop out with my hand in a plastic bag that OOPS looks like it has a hole in it. Awesome. And oops, the poop disintegrates into 1 million tiny poops diffusing throughout the tub of water, all through the tiny holes and crevices of rubber ducks and toy boats. I am then the one who gets the STRAINER from the kitchen to get the bigger poops out to dump them into the toilet. I am then the one who has to collect the poop toys into a bucket with the poop strainer and somehow clean out the tub because it smells like a frat toilet.

I obviously sent that picture straight to B and requested a raise in my House Manager salary.

B says this: I would have just flushed the poop.

WHAT A GREAT IDEA YOU ASSHOLE.
Please remember that B has given this child a bath every single night of his life and he poops with me.

But G was not better and today we found out that he has bronchitis and double ear infections. But he’s starting to improve and let me tell you this: This took more out of me and was 100 times more stressful for me than finding out about Mr lumpy hump.

The one thing that got me through my lump ordeal was telling myself how much worse it would be if G was the one with a mysterious lump instead of me. That made me grateful for my lump and gave me the strength and courage to face it head on. And having G sick this week was a really good constant reminder of that.

This was G’s first REAL sickness and it won’t be his last and I have NO idea how I’m going to deal with more of this. I don’t know how any of you deal with this.
I am currently working on a love bubble for my baby. It’s made of marshmallow, bunnies and clouds and it protects my super sweet baby from rusty nails and friend saliva. He can totally live in that for a good 17 years. Oh, I’m also considering accepting donated breastmilk for G. And that is not a joke. I really miss having my super sweet magical health juice for G. He was never sick with the good shit.

Now please tell me how you keep your children safe. I’m accepting blueprints for bubbles.

Also I don’t want to hear about the shit picture. Go wash your eyes.

Worn the F out,

MODG

 

Raise your hand if you know what croup is? If you answered a combination of crap and poop YOU…

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