You know you're a mommy if...
...…you pop out of bed to respond to a waking toddler…only to discover it was just your own nasty nose whistle. (courtesy of Karen H)
... your wildest dreams are no longer vacations in Tahiti but going to the bathroom without an audience.
... you've ever kept your infant in the Bjorn longer than necessary in a social situation 'cause the baby was covering up the stains on your sweat shirt.
... you change your whole menu plan to include spaghetti 'cause you need a bigger jar for the pet snails.
... you come home having to whiz like a racehorse, but stop to pick up the cat yak on the floor first. It's easier to wash your own pants than fish a fur ball out of a toddler's mouth .
... you press body parts up against the shower door to keep your kids entertained with a bouncing ass puppet show just so you can get a shower.
... despite the fact that it's KILLING your back, you'd rather stand awkwardly to cast your shadow on a baby you're trying to diaper in the sun.
Developmental stages: (in no particular order)
... they no longer want to be IN the stroller, they must be pushing it.
... if you have a girl -- it MUST be a dress, and it MUST twirl or no one can get out of the house.
... "Eleventeen"
... They discover that THEY can remove diapers and go exploring in the contents.
... "Mommy, watch me go poop!"
... After finally getting breastfeeding down, the baby goes into a stage where you're a jungle gym with boobs. At this point you decide that breastfeeding in public is no longer a viable option.
We had dinner with our dear friends Walt and Shauna. Shauna graciously offered to look after both girls if I ever needed time to do something. Shauna had helped pull my bacon out of the fire when Lexie was first born and in her scream all day mode by watching Angelina for a few hours every week. I was genuinely thinking I'd go nuts there for a while. It's gotten much better. Doug and I were talking about how nice it was of her to offer to watch both the girls when Doug wistfully said to me "I wonder if I could drop you off too?"
Oh, how our children teach us to be humble. Toilet training has been going on with varying degrees of success. I was being the ever vigilant mommy, sitting on a stool in front of Angelina with an appropriately sized wad of toilet paper in my hand ready to perform the wiping duties. Angelina was sitting on the throne, attempting to master the art of aiming INTO the toilet when, inevitably, an arc of pee went over the toilet seat and onto the floor. Of course I, wonder-mommy, bent down to wipe it up and was simultaneously reassuring her that it's okay, accidents happen, when she nailed me right on the top of the head with the next arc of flying pee. Now there's a peculiar sensation, popping back up to have drips of pee running down my scalp. Who says only boys need the pee guard? After that one I've learned to wait and clean up the WHOLE mess at once. Saves on shampoo.
While we were playing, Angelina said "You be the wind and I'll be the grass..." So we played at that, I blew on her and she wiggled. And then "You be the rainbow and I'll be (the sun)" I'm still wondering how I'm supposed to manage that one, but her creativity astounds me.
We were at the Dr's office for Lexie's 9 month appointment and Angelina's 3 year appointment. I'm so used to switching back and forth between English and German that I'm barely conscious of it anymore. Angelina just understands and complies (usually) to both languages. The Doctor, a new intern doing a pediatric rotation was really sweet. Actually tickled the girls and really made an effort to be personable at THEIR level. At one point he asked "What're you speaking?" Angelina and I replied at the same time. Angelina said proudly "I can speak Germans!" "Really? What can you say?" Angelina's response? Full of pride and obviously desiring to impress, she said "Gracias!"
We parents can be cruel at times, for our own entertainment. Doug informed Angelina that she had a pimple on her butt. This, of course, she had to come an announce to me while I was on The Throne. She twirled around and assumed the usual wiping position, butt in my general direction, grabbing ankles. Doug had to follow her, of course, joined shortly by Lexie who was delayed only 'cause she was crawling. So sure enough, the whole family was in the bathroom with me. Angelina complained that she couldn't see the pimple on her butt, so Doug told her that if she twirled fast enough, she could see her own butt. Now I don't know about you, but if anyone is going to warp the space/time continuum, it'll probably be a preschooler. Angelina had us in stitches twirling as fast as she could, but did not manage to twirl fast enough to stand behind herself in time to regard her own perfectly cute, pimple bedecked butt -- give her some time to practice.
Lexie's getting so cute. I'm just falling in love with her all over again every day. In the middle of the night, when she's nursing, she absent mindedly caresses me with her free hand. I swear there's no happier sensation than nursing a sleepy baby -- except maybe for actually sleeping. I taught her how to kiss. Now I say "kiss kiss?" and she comes at me with this open mouth slobbery kiss that never fails to make me laugh. Breastfeeding is such a joy. My body miraculously turns my love for my children into a liquid that nourishes their every cell. At night, when it's just me and my baby, and the whole world is asleep, I swear Angels watch us and smile.
On the other hand, we get back to my wildest dream -- to go potty without company. I thought it was bad enough that I have to keep Lexie from batting at the stream of pee as I'm on The Throne, but at least it doesn't take me that long to pee. Doug was saying that Lexie tends to whack at Thems That Dangle.
Angelina's going to Bug School (a wonderful preschool program at our local co-op preschool). What a howl! Obviously Doug and I aren't the only parents who are amused by giving our children disinformation. The first week it was Snails. We learned that they're called Gastropods 'cause their feet are actually their mouths. We learned that they have tentacles, two on top for seeing, two below for smelling. And so on... Angelina's biggest lament was that we weren't keen on her kissing her snail. I was greatly honored, however when the snail she caught on our walk had to be named Evelyn Grace. So Thursday I was working and at the closing circle time Teacher Sandy asked "What's another name for a Gastropod?" Aimee piped up "I know!!! I know!!! Another name for a gas-tro-pod is es-car-go!!!" Five minutes later the kids were asking me why I was still snuffing and a snorting with laughter.
Of course it's been a lot of fun to see how they get things charmingly screwed up. When it was switched from Snail week to Ant week, the ants apparently have ANTentacles. Someday she'll figure out that they're tentacles and antennae... but not today. She also must have figured out an important goof in her vocabulary. She's been saying "nail polish" all along when I occasionally paint her little toes pink, but when Teacher Sandy used nail polish to paint letters on their newly captive snails it became "snail polish" and has remained so ever since.
Lexie's "cruising." She's taken her first steps (9 months 2 weeks), but shows no great interest in taking more than one or two at a time. So she walks along any and all handy pieces of furniture. She's discovered that one of the great benefits of bipedal locomotion is that she can stand between the tub and the toilet and stomp in the cats' water dish.
Odd how we catch ourselves. Doug was derisively pointing out that something I had suggested was unlikely and used a creative phrase for it, telling me "That'll happen when pigs fly out of your ah, ah, ... uh, poh poh." I suppose I should be grateful that he didn't actually say ASS, but then Angelina's eyes got wide and she looked at me with an astonishment and reverence only a three year old can muster and asked "Mommy! Can you REALLY make pigs fly out of your poh poh?" I assured her that Daddy was just being silly, but it took a couple of weeks before she stopped looking at my butt with great expectation.
Gone are the days when I would try to put on a puppet show with one hand while I juggled a nursing infant with the other. Now I just pop out a boob and pop on the TV. At least there's a cute point to every episode of Dragon Tales and Berenstain Bears. I must say that I do force Angelina to watch my Tivo'd cooking shows. At least I get my nursing done and learn something new. If Alton Brown only knew. I've flashed him more tit than is usually seen at a New Orleans Mardi Gras!
Funny how kids'll follow you around. I pointed out to Doug that as I walked from one end of the house to the other, fully 50% of the population of the house went with me. For whatever reason, Lexie decided to follow Doug around for a while, probably 'cause I was in the kitchen standing still. All of a sudden I heard a loud expulsion of gas from Doug's general direction at which time he said "Oh, sorry Lexie. Daddy didn't mean to fart in your face." Her coughing fit did more to get Doug chagrined than all the protestations I've ever lodged when he pulled the covers up over my face.
Lexie's fully walking by now. She's about 3 weeks behind her sister. Angelina was storming the castle at 9 months. Lexie started walking at 10 months. Crazy looking at this little baby doing a Herman Munster lurch across the floor.
I suspect I'm going to come out of this parenting experience pretty darn stable. I've been whipsawed around in about a dozen ways. Angelina came up to me with her little chin quivering and gave me a big hug. She said "Mommy, I'm never going to let you die!" Are other three year olds obsessed with death? This topic comes up at least a couple times a week. We cuddled and hugged and I reassured her as much as I could without promising to get cryogenically preserved. Of course 15 minutes later she's sticking her tongue out at me for having had the temerity to suggest she clean up her own mess. Since sticking her tongue out at me is the toddler version of "Fuck you!" I don't put up with that. All this on a day when Lexie had the flu and was spewing at both ends. Either I'll be completely bipolar or I'll just take everything in stride. I suspect it'll be the latter.
I've been trying to get out of the toddler music, however discovered how difficult this would be. Just recently while listening to Enrique Iglesias, I realized I don't want her asking me what a "one night stand" is. Then there was Prince, one of my favorite artists, but somehow a song "You sexy Mother F*&(er" is just not something I'm going to let my 3 year old hear. Meatloaf's "Bat out of Hell" is right out. Finally I got out my Spanish music. I think it's called Margarita Mambo. I've also got Musica Del Sol and some others. They could be saying anything on that and we'd be cheerily singing along, utterly oblivious to the meaning of the words. At least Angelina won't be asking me "Mommy, why do bats want to fly out of hell?"
At least I've been able to curb most of my swearing, although Angelina did say "ScheiBe" in front of my mother who is one of the few people in Northern America who would know that it means "Shit" in German. We let that one slide by without comment. A friend of mine reported that her cherubic three year old had said "I'm having a fucking time with these socks!" She was, of course, utterly mortified but tried to hide it. The last thing we want them to know is that they can get a rise out of us. WOO HOOO! Keys to the kingdom when they find one of those buttons to push on a parent.
So on the day when Lexie was spewing at both ends, for some reason I got a little silly with the diaper cream and put a dab on Angelina's nose. Next came stripes under my eyes as if I were a football player -- except that Desitin is white. Pretty soon we were war painted out, all three of us with diaper cream in stripes on our faces. Thank heavens they invented Desitin creamy. At least now I can be silly and not smell like cod liver oil.
Manners do have their downside. Angelina's been getting hounded to say "Excuse me!" along with other social nicities. Mom did her best not to crack up when Angelina told her "Excuse me, but don't contradict me!"
"EUREKA" thought I as I found a way to keep the kids entertained while I was in the shower. I may have solved one of motherhood's most vexing problems: How the hell do I get a shower? (At all, much less regularly). I brushed my teeth ... with an audience, then swished with Listerine, having to explain in language a 3 year old can understand that it helps to clean teeth. I was trying to do the "cat bath" method in the sink with a wash cloth for the 3rd day an a row, and figured that just wasn't going to cut it. But then the question is how does one take a decent shower with a 3 year old and a now 1 year old? The answer came to me in a flash -- literally. Just a couple days before Doug had pressed his heinie against the shower door to show his opinion of what I had just said (long since forgotten) and Angelina had just howled with laugher. I figured I'd give it a go. I started with hands and feet. They both gamely patted the frosted glass door following my hands. This little puppet show was keeping them in stitches. I then started the bouncing ass portion of the puppet show. This was bringing down the house! I obviously got overconfident when I decided I could build in an intermission and shave some bits and pieces. I heard an odd coughing and asked Angelina what was happening. She calmly reported that she was cleaning her sister. I should have seen this coming. I got out of the shower only to discover that Angelina had poured Listerine on a washcloth and was scrubbing her strenuously objecting sister. We had to be out of the house in short order, so Lexie wore a slightly green sticky hairdo for the rest of the day. I'm back to taking cat baths. I'm afraid of what they'll think of next. If I'm gamey next time you see me, you'll know why.
Sometimes language is a tricky thing. In order to keep Angelina from getting too frustrated with Lexie, we wrote Lexie's Godzilla act into the Thomas the Train script. We'd get a track built and then scream with excitement "Uh oh! There goes Tokyo!" Except after a few months Angelina's changed it to "Uh oh! Pinocchio!" I just can't picture a huge Pinocchio saying "I want to be a real boy!" as he's stomping through Tokyo.
Then there's the famous Dr Seuss book "The Star Bellied Sneeches." Here I was thinking she'd get some wonderful lesson out of this not to judge people by the stars on their bellies. No. When we got home she was eating her snack nude as usual. What does she do? She took the strawberry jam from her toast and painted a star on her naked belly in jam. "Look mommy, I'm a strawberry sneech!"
Angelina and I were playing The Wizard of Oz. Anyone who's seen my hair knows I'm a shoe in for The Cowardly Lion. So she had her ruby slippers on and we wandered around the house while we played different scenes and each took different roles. Lexie quickly became ToTo. Angelina smacked my hand and I went into huge theatrics doing the cowardly portion of the Cowardly Lion's act. We were off to see the Wizard, but again things got charmingly mixed up. The Wizard apparently lives in The Emerald Island of Sodor. Of course the whole thing got derailed when Toto wanted to nurse on The Cowardly Lion.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Letters to AJ
More 'You know you're a mommy when...'" You make your phone calls in the car 'cause that's the only place it's socially acceptable to strap your kids down.
Letters to AJ
More "You might be a mommy if..." You finally get a night out with "The girls" and you spend most of it wondering why you ever liked doing this crap, and wishing you were home in your pajamas snuggling with your sweet little baby.
May, 2005
More "You know you're a mommy when..."
The only reason it looks like you've had a french manicure is 'cause you've got diaper cream under your fingernails.
You figure your crunchy kitchen floor isn't actually dirty 'cause it's just cheerios flung about by your infant.
You've redefined "Good Sex" as when your husband watches the kids long enough for you to have a happy encounter with your shower massage.
You develop your own ratings for poop outs. Mine are based on movie titles. "Indiana Poop and the Diaper of Doom!" "A River Runs through it."
You know that you have exactly 1.8 seconds after you hand her a new toy to get a diaper on your crawler before she twists out of your grasp again.
You know you're on your second (or subsequent) child when you hear the baby crying* and you and your husband pause to do "Rock Paper Scissors" to see who'll respond. (*and you know it's just the frustrated cry, not the urgent I've-hurt-myself cry)
So I've been trying to find ways to motivate my temperature-sensitive daughter toward toilet training. Thus far not much has worked well. I've bribed with stickers and chocolate, but I think I've finally hit on a possible solution -- I'm going to start putting the wipes in the fridge! Of course even at room temperature she hollers at the top of her lungs "NO, MOMMY! NO MAKE MY PUSSY COLD!" I knew I'd regret using that word, particularly on a lovely sunny day when I have the windows open and her screaming can be heard up the block.
And while we're on the pussy theme. We took at trip to Disneyland and one night in the hotel, Doug went over to the other room to check and see if the kids were out. He was in his usual pajamas, i.e. his birthday suit. Not only was Angelina not asleep, but she asked, "Daddy? Where's YOUR pussy?" Not the kind of question he was expecting. His response? "I don't have a pussy, I have a pee pee. Now go to sleep!"
Of course his sister had the worst of it when she took her daughter to one of the HUGE public restrooms at Disneyland. Kristina had the good sense not to teach her daughter the word "pussy" but might have been wishing she had. Delana caught a good look at my sister in law and asked in that innocently loud voice only a 5 year old can muster "Mommy, how come you have hair on your butt?" Laughter arose throughout the restroom from all who had heard. Kris waited about 10 minutes before emerging. Then the question arose, did the other women think she actually had hair on her butt or did they recognize that Delana didn't know a better word to communicate pubic hair?
This brings up the question of language. I think we bring it on ourselves some times. At a playgroup of mostly girls recently one mom was changing her infant son's diaper. This became quite a spectator event for us moms of only daughters. I mentioned that I wouldn't have the first idea of what one does to get a boy clean. Another mom mentioned that it was actually easier to keep a little penis cleaned. The topic of foreskin removal came up. Someone was saying that it was actually easier to keep clean than the little labia. The little boy's mom gently grabbed his penis, pulled it up and pointed at his little scrotum and said, "Yeah, but you've got to get into the little wrinkles in his ball S-A-C-K." Now WHY after saying penis, foreskin, circumcision, labia and ball, did we need to spell sack????
Maybe it's a phenomenon of the firstborn or that I've become a bit more jaded now that I have two. Angelina will occasionally melt into a puddle of dramatic sobbing over some minor issue. I realized my fundamental attitude had changed when I'd picked her up and was dutifully consoling her and realized that if I patted her back just a little bit faster her wails kinda sounded like a motor boat. I'm still a neurotic mom, just a little less so. Sometimes I wonder if I'm caught in the parenting version of a Far Side cartoon.
She loves playing pretend. "You be Kiki, and I'll be Finn." (Two baby dragons from "Dragon Tails.") Then we'll baby talk each other and just be silly for a while. Then she changes the players and we assume the new roles. I realized she's pretty good at thinking outside the box when she told me "You be the cookie monster and I'll be the cookies!"
Man oh man do kids see through us! Angelina was doing her usual bed time routine: hop out of bed and sneak down the hall. Doug finally had had enough and went in to make good on his threat of spanking her. She offered up her heinie with resignation and Doug smacked it at about the level of polite applause. He realized she wasn't getting any effect from this and smacked her just enough to sting at which time she screamed dramatically "NO DADDY, not a REAL spanking!!!!" So what have all the others been in her mind, I wonder? I can just see that somewhere in her head she realized that we had this little social contract going. We parents used this lame form of spanking to convince her we were serious, but she knew we're both softies and wouldn't want to actually cause pain. She therefore dutifully offered up her little ass as part of this social contract, understanding that we parents just had to go through this ritual. If there's any reason to be consistent it's cause THEY'RE WATCHING US!
Angelina was sick a while ago. General malaise and something in her tummy. Doug and I have been blessedly well. This means, however that Angelina learned how to be sick from the cats; wanders around inexplicably agitated for a little while, then pukes on the carpet.
If you have a baby, fair warning, Angelina's obsessed with their ears. We started calling Lexie "Our little Ferengi." Of course it fits on a multitude of levels, 'cause all trekkies know that Ferengis didn't allow their womenfolk to wear clothes. Angelina would rather be naked than clothed any day of the week. Me? Naked? Let's just not go there.
Doug's been trying to encourage Angelina to undertake more challenging things. He'll tell her "I have full faith and confidence in your abilities!" That she didn't understand this, as if she would, was evidenced by her stomping one little foot and hollering back at him "I'm NOT a Billibees!" That rapidly became "Wildebeast," so for a while our conversations were "I need to nurse the Ferengi." Or "Could you get the Wildebeast a sippycup?"
Nicknames come and go, of course. Lexie's been waking up VERY early, and has been obviously done with sleeping. She's so perky it's painful to see when I'm that stoned with lack of sleep. She grins that brilliant toothless grin that involves her whole face and causes her to flap her arms with glee. Her new nickname has become Princess Sparky Sweetbuttons, but we just call her Sparky for short.
Toilet training has been an adventure. It's interesting to see how they reverse-engineer these things and don't always get it right. On those occasions when Angelina decides she has to go potty, she'll suddenly stop in the middle of what she's doing, announce that she has to go potty, pull her pants down to her ankles and THEN run to the bathroom in this hobbled shuffling step that makes me SURE she's going to fall and irrigate the carpet. In a couple weeks we'll get that sequence down. FIRST run to the bathroom, THEN pull the pants down.
I decided I needed to get on the toilet training. I'd been giving myself a pass since I had a newborn, but since Lexie's crawling backwards everywhere (and quite frustrated that she keeps getting farther and farther from the object of her desire) I just don't have that excuse anymore. Angelina brought this home to me when I knew she'd gone to hide and poop, but had forgotten and insisted that she sit down and eat her lunch. Of course her full diaper came back to me immediately when she said "Oooooh, that's squishy!" Okay Ev, (says I to myself) if she has the language abilities to say "that's squishy!" I think I better get on it. Since then I've tried stickers and chocolate as motivators. We'll have to see how the refrigerated wipes work.
There are days when I feel like all I do is clean up. I couldn't quite figure out why I was always having to pick up the hand towels from the bathroom which migrated to other parts of the house. I painstakingly re hung them on the towel racks repeatedly. I later solved the mystery when I discovered Angelina on one of her toilet-training, run-around-naked days wiping her pussy with the hand towel. Imagine my horror at realizing how many times I'd painstakingly re hung those. To everyone who's been to my house, I apologize and assure you it was mostly her "Hello Kitty" hand towel. We've since solved this problem and restored our house to its usual haphazard hygiene levels.
Doug keeps getting blow after blow to his ego. We like to cuddle with Angelina before she goes to sleep. It's just a time to leave the dishes in the sink and our cares at the door and really enjoy her. She always asks "How was your day?" and we discuss that. Her response to the same question is always "Pretty nice!" Doug was cuddling on a Friday night and told Angelina he was going to be home tomorrow, what would she like to do? "Spend some time with Mommy," she said with a wistful sigh.
Where do they get these things... Doug and I were spatting slightly as we regularly do, when Angelina hollered between us at Doug "STOP PISSING MOMMY OFF!!!!" Well THERE'S a conversation stopper!
Another conversation stopper came as I realized my ability to creatively cuss can only be topped by my darling daughter being even more, but innocently creative. We were tracing letters in her preschool curriculum book when Lexie woke from her nap. Angelina looked at me and says "Someone's awake, Oh Criminey Shit." How the hell does one NOT laugh at that? Is there a way to completely delete expletives from my vocabulary? After 14 years as a cop where "Fuck" was used as every part of speech, the fact that I've improved as much as I have is laudable. I've been trying to switch to "Aye Caramba." Of course now someone is going to tell me that that means "Go screw your pooch" in Spanish. Great. I'll be able to offend people in THREE languages.
It's so fun to see how they express themselves with limited language abilities. Doug was reading Angelina books before bed. As usual, he was wearing his hanging-about-home uniform of shorts that he's had for 10 years. Angelina looked at him and remarked "Daddy! Your boobies have a beard!" (Doug insists I include a disclaimer that he DOES NOT have "man breasts" and that she was referring to his well-developed pectoral muscles.)
God I fall in love with my kids all over again every day. I was waking Angelina up by laying in bed and cuddling with her when it occurred to me that I LOVE her little funky morning breath. She wraps her little arms around me all sleepy and sighs some morning breath in my face and I'm in love all over again.
Lexie, at not quite 8 months is pulling herself up to standing at every opportunity. She's started to crawl forward in just the last week or so. I'm sure she'll be an early walker like Angelina was, in part because she's seeing Angelina walk all the time, and it's all Lexie wants to do. Hold her little hands and she'll be thrilled to walk until your back is breaking. After her rocky start, she's such an easy baby now. Almost to the point that I wish she were more cuddly. They're babes in arms for such a short time. At least she still smells like diaper cream and spit up.
Send me your thoughts and YOUR mommy moments. I love to hear them. I'd love to keep up my list of "You know you're a mommy when..."
The only reason it looks like you've had a french manicure is 'cause you've got diaper cream under your fingernails.
You figure your crunchy kitchen floor isn't actually dirty 'cause it's just cheerios flung about by your infant.
You've redefined "Good Sex" as when your husband watches the kids long enough for you to have a happy encounter with your shower massage.
You develop your own ratings for poop outs. Mine are based on movie titles. "Indiana Poop and the Diaper of Doom!" "A River Runs through it."
You know that you have exactly 1.8 seconds after you hand her a new toy to get a diaper on your crawler before she twists out of your grasp again.
You know you're on your second (or subsequent) child when you hear the baby crying* and you and your husband pause to do "Rock Paper Scissors" to see who'll respond. (*and you know it's just the frustrated cry, not the urgent I've-hurt-myself cry)
So I've been trying to find ways to motivate my temperature-sensitive daughter toward toilet training. Thus far not much has worked well. I've bribed with stickers and chocolate, but I think I've finally hit on a possible solution -- I'm going to start putting the wipes in the fridge! Of course even at room temperature she hollers at the top of her lungs "NO, MOMMY! NO MAKE MY PUSSY COLD!" I knew I'd regret using that word, particularly on a lovely sunny day when I have the windows open and her screaming can be heard up the block.
And while we're on the pussy theme. We took at trip to Disneyland and one night in the hotel, Doug went over to the other room to check and see if the kids were out. He was in his usual pajamas, i.e. his birthday suit. Not only was Angelina not asleep, but she asked, "Daddy? Where's YOUR pussy?" Not the kind of question he was expecting. His response? "I don't have a pussy, I have a pee pee. Now go to sleep!"
Of course his sister had the worst of it when she took her daughter to one of the HUGE public restrooms at Disneyland. Kristina had the good sense not to teach her daughter the word "pussy" but might have been wishing she had. Delana caught a good look at my sister in law and asked in that innocently loud voice only a 5 year old can muster "Mommy, how come you have hair on your butt?" Laughter arose throughout the restroom from all who had heard. Kris waited about 10 minutes before emerging. Then the question arose, did the other women think she actually had hair on her butt or did they recognize that Delana didn't know a better word to communicate pubic hair?
This brings up the question of language. I think we bring it on ourselves some times. At a playgroup of mostly girls recently one mom was changing her infant son's diaper. This became quite a spectator event for us moms of only daughters. I mentioned that I wouldn't have the first idea of what one does to get a boy clean. Another mom mentioned that it was actually easier to keep a little penis cleaned. The topic of foreskin removal came up. Someone was saying that it was actually easier to keep clean than the little labia. The little boy's mom gently grabbed his penis, pulled it up and pointed at his little scrotum and said, "Yeah, but you've got to get into the little wrinkles in his ball S-A-C-K." Now WHY after saying penis, foreskin, circumcision, labia and ball, did we need to spell sack????
Maybe it's a phenomenon of the firstborn or that I've become a bit more jaded now that I have two. Angelina will occasionally melt into a puddle of dramatic sobbing over some minor issue. I realized my fundamental attitude had changed when I'd picked her up and was dutifully consoling her and realized that if I patted her back just a little bit faster her wails kinda sounded like a motor boat. I'm still a neurotic mom, just a little less so. Sometimes I wonder if I'm caught in the parenting version of a Far Side cartoon.
She loves playing pretend. "You be Kiki, and I'll be Finn." (Two baby dragons from "Dragon Tails.") Then we'll baby talk each other and just be silly for a while. Then she changes the players and we assume the new roles. I realized she's pretty good at thinking outside the box when she told me "You be the cookie monster and I'll be the cookies!"
Man oh man do kids see through us! Angelina was doing her usual bed time routine: hop out of bed and sneak down the hall. Doug finally had had enough and went in to make good on his threat of spanking her. She offered up her heinie with resignation and Doug smacked it at about the level of polite applause. He realized she wasn't getting any effect from this and smacked her just enough to sting at which time she screamed dramatically "NO DADDY, not a REAL spanking!!!!" So what have all the others been in her mind, I wonder? I can just see that somewhere in her head she realized that we had this little social contract going. We parents used this lame form of spanking to convince her we were serious, but she knew we're both softies and wouldn't want to actually cause pain. She therefore dutifully offered up her little ass as part of this social contract, understanding that we parents just had to go through this ritual. If there's any reason to be consistent it's cause THEY'RE WATCHING US!
Angelina was sick a while ago. General malaise and something in her tummy. Doug and I have been blessedly well. This means, however that Angelina learned how to be sick from the cats; wanders around inexplicably agitated for a little while, then pukes on the carpet.
If you have a baby, fair warning, Angelina's obsessed with their ears. We started calling Lexie "Our little Ferengi." Of course it fits on a multitude of levels, 'cause all trekkies know that Ferengis didn't allow their womenfolk to wear clothes. Angelina would rather be naked than clothed any day of the week. Me? Naked? Let's just not go there.
Doug's been trying to encourage Angelina to undertake more challenging things. He'll tell her "I have full faith and confidence in your abilities!" That she didn't understand this, as if she would, was evidenced by her stomping one little foot and hollering back at him "I'm NOT a Billibees!" That rapidly became "Wildebeast," so for a while our conversations were "I need to nurse the Ferengi." Or "Could you get the Wildebeast a sippycup?"
Nicknames come and go, of course. Lexie's been waking up VERY early, and has been obviously done with sleeping. She's so perky it's painful to see when I'm that stoned with lack of sleep. She grins that brilliant toothless grin that involves her whole face and causes her to flap her arms with glee. Her new nickname has become Princess Sparky Sweetbuttons, but we just call her Sparky for short.
Toilet training has been an adventure. It's interesting to see how they reverse-engineer these things and don't always get it right. On those occasions when Angelina decides she has to go potty, she'll suddenly stop in the middle of what she's doing, announce that she has to go potty, pull her pants down to her ankles and THEN run to the bathroom in this hobbled shuffling step that makes me SURE she's going to fall and irrigate the carpet. In a couple weeks we'll get that sequence down. FIRST run to the bathroom, THEN pull the pants down.
I decided I needed to get on the toilet training. I'd been giving myself a pass since I had a newborn, but since Lexie's crawling backwards everywhere (and quite frustrated that she keeps getting farther and farther from the object of her desire) I just don't have that excuse anymore. Angelina brought this home to me when I knew she'd gone to hide and poop, but had forgotten and insisted that she sit down and eat her lunch. Of course her full diaper came back to me immediately when she said "Oooooh, that's squishy!" Okay Ev, (says I to myself) if she has the language abilities to say "that's squishy!" I think I better get on it. Since then I've tried stickers and chocolate as motivators. We'll have to see how the refrigerated wipes work.
There are days when I feel like all I do is clean up. I couldn't quite figure out why I was always having to pick up the hand towels from the bathroom which migrated to other parts of the house. I painstakingly re hung them on the towel racks repeatedly. I later solved the mystery when I discovered Angelina on one of her toilet-training, run-around-naked days wiping her pussy with the hand towel. Imagine my horror at realizing how many times I'd painstakingly re hung those. To everyone who's been to my house, I apologize and assure you it was mostly her "Hello Kitty" hand towel. We've since solved this problem and restored our house to its usual haphazard hygiene levels.
Doug keeps getting blow after blow to his ego. We like to cuddle with Angelina before she goes to sleep. It's just a time to leave the dishes in the sink and our cares at the door and really enjoy her. She always asks "How was your day?" and we discuss that. Her response to the same question is always "Pretty nice!" Doug was cuddling on a Friday night and told Angelina he was going to be home tomorrow, what would she like to do? "Spend some time with Mommy," she said with a wistful sigh.
Where do they get these things... Doug and I were spatting slightly as we regularly do, when Angelina hollered between us at Doug "STOP PISSING MOMMY OFF!!!!" Well THERE'S a conversation stopper!
Another conversation stopper came as I realized my ability to creatively cuss can only be topped by my darling daughter being even more, but innocently creative. We were tracing letters in her preschool curriculum book when Lexie woke from her nap. Angelina looked at me and says "Someone's awake, Oh Criminey Shit." How the hell does one NOT laugh at that? Is there a way to completely delete expletives from my vocabulary? After 14 years as a cop where "Fuck" was used as every part of speech, the fact that I've improved as much as I have is laudable. I've been trying to switch to "Aye Caramba." Of course now someone is going to tell me that that means "Go screw your pooch" in Spanish. Great. I'll be able to offend people in THREE languages.
It's so fun to see how they express themselves with limited language abilities. Doug was reading Angelina books before bed. As usual, he was wearing his hanging-about-home uniform of shorts that he's had for 10 years. Angelina looked at him and remarked "Daddy! Your boobies have a beard!" (Doug insists I include a disclaimer that he DOES NOT have "man breasts" and that she was referring to his well-developed pectoral muscles.)
God I fall in love with my kids all over again every day. I was waking Angelina up by laying in bed and cuddling with her when it occurred to me that I LOVE her little funky morning breath. She wraps her little arms around me all sleepy and sighs some morning breath in my face and I'm in love all over again.
Lexie, at not quite 8 months is pulling herself up to standing at every opportunity. She's started to crawl forward in just the last week or so. I'm sure she'll be an early walker like Angelina was, in part because she's seeing Angelina walk all the time, and it's all Lexie wants to do. Hold her little hands and she'll be thrilled to walk until your back is breaking. After her rocky start, she's such an easy baby now. Almost to the point that I wish she were more cuddly. They're babes in arms for such a short time. At least she still smells like diaper cream and spit up.
Send me your thoughts and YOUR mommy moments. I love to hear them. I'd love to keep up my list of "You know you're a mommy when..."
Friday, January 20, 2006
060120 Stripper dust & simon says
In the spirit of Jeff Foxworthy's "You might be a redneck if..."
You might be a Mommy if...
You discover the source of that funky cheese smell when you examine your infant's double chins.
Your kids are so talkative that you decide if the ever were to make a screen play of your life it would be called "Mom, interrupted."
The most communication you've had with your spouse in the last week is when you both holler "INDOOR VOICE" at the same time.
You go on week-long trip and don't even bother to pack a razor... hell at home you don't shave for a lot longer than that at times.
You wash your hair when you can't remember the last time you did it... and you don't remember what a blow dryer looks like.
You think back to how long it took you to get ready for work and wonder if you'll EVER have time to primp like that again.
You find yourself interrupting phone conversations with "Don't put the applesauce in the VCR." and only realize that's funny when the person you're talking to laughs.
You decide that peeing in the shower is just good time management.
Your wardrobe decisions are often based on who saw you in it yesterday, and are you seeing them again today? Your kids, on the other hand, always look cute and coordinated.
You put those blue tablets in the toilet tanks not because you're queen of domestic hygiene, but because you want to be sure what the source for your "tea party" ISN'T.
You've been to the butcher, the baker, and a playgroup and only discover on getting home that you've had a zit on your face the size of Kansas the whole day. In your previous life (pre kids) you'd have called in sick, or slathered on so much makeup that it looked like a science project. These days who looks in the mirror?
As you all know it's been a while since I've sent out a Mommy Moments. So this is longer than usual. I know everyone's busy, but I hope you find some entertainment here.
So I've been to the ragged edge and back. It's almost impossible to communicate how crazy making it is to have an infant who wont be put down, and even when she's being held cries constantly, and a toddler simply being herself. Add to this pain from nursing with thrush, a tanker truck full of hormones and sleep deprivation. I absolutely understand how women go nuts. I had Lexie in the Bjorn -- and she was still screaming -- and poor Angelina was playing in the kitchen sink as she loves to do, I was chopping up an apple and just holding a knife in my hand was scary. I would never do anything to hurt my kids, but the potential of that knife just scared me. I really felt like I was a gnat's eyebrow from going insane at points.
It's those damn hormones. One friend of mine refused to drive on any of the bay area bridges. She always saw herself and the kids drowning trapped in a car. Another friend would compulsively open the garage door before turning on the car just in case in that split second between turning on the car and pushing the garage door opener she died of a stroke or heart attack the baby would be safe from carbon monoxide poisoning. I guess we all get a little crazy. With Angelina I could never go down stairs with her in my arms and NOT see a mental movie of us falling ass over teakettle down the stairs.
Falling in love with Angelina...
Breastfeeding hurts. No two ways about it, it just hurts at first. And add to that the antibiotics of a C section and all sorts of imbalances will occur, usually resulting in thrush, a painful infection of the breast. I explained to Angelina that we needed to go to target to buy breast pads. I told her that Mommy had boo boos on her boobies and the breast pads would help. Hours later, I was nursing Lexie in Angelina's room and she saw me wincing. Angelina ran off inexplicably, and as I was busy doing lamaze breathing for the nipple pain, I didn't pay attention until she came back with two breast pads. What an absolute sweetie. She saw I was in pain, put together what there was that she could do about it, and ran off to get me the breast pads.
A couple of days later, she saw the same expression on my face and brought me the Lansinoh which I had also explained was cream for mommy's boobie boo boos.
Just today 9/19, the thrush has definitely set in and has gotten worse. The lamaze breathing was starting to sound like the huffing and puffing of a steam engine. Angelina never holds it against Lexie that she's causing me pain. She offers to kiss the boo boo, and although it's not exactly comfortable to let her do this, I just can't say no. Today she offered "You want a schnuller?" and ran and got me one of her pacifiers and stuck it in my mouth. Her schnullies are obviously a great comfort to her, and in her two year old little world, she offered me what she would have wanted for her comfort
National Geographic
I've always said that bringing a child into this world is one of the most dignified acts one can undertake. It is, however, one that cannot be accomplished with any sense of modesty. I've been battling Thrush, a pernicious infection common in women who've had C-sections due to the huge wad of antibiotics we're given. The antibiotics throw things out of balance and allow yeast to grow unchecked. This infects the nipples, milk ducts, baby's mouth, and sometimes baby's heinie. So now I've got cream for my nipples, cream for Lexie's butt, oral nystatin for her mouth and an anti-yeast pill I'm taking. The other recommendations are that the nipples remain exposed to the air as much as possible, and that they be bathed in a mild baking soda solution periodically. I've become convinced that National Geographic should do a spread on the lactating women of suburbia. I can just see what the caption would be for some of the photographs. "The women smear their nipples with a peculiar yellow cream. Anthropologists believe it's a cosmetic form of adornment to celebrate their lactating status." Of course running around topless works fine unless, like I do, you have your most used room with three walls made of glass.
Poopscapades
We've had another episode of the poopscapades. In rare form for nap avoidance, Angelina did her usual Houdini escape from her crib and was knocking on her door wanting to be let out. This usually happens after a two to three hour nap rather than the 30 minutes it had been. I opened the door to discover my little darling dashing about her room bottomless and looking very much awake. She announced that she had made a mess, a conclusion I'd come to seconds earlier as the smell of baby poop hit my nose. Why is it that they don't merely rip off their diapers -- something that I could quite thoroughly understand -- they examine the contents. In Angelina's case, she examined the contents and wanted to show all her little friends her accomplishments. To this end she stomped several of her happy meal toys through the accumulated feces, and then stomped them all over the carpet in her room. Other little girly girls have their dolls tiptoeing through the tulips, but NO, mine has her dolls tromping through the turds! Shark boy, and "Helping Sally" are soaking in a sudsy spa right now and will need to be more thoroughly disinfected, assuming I don't send them to their poopy grave with two other toys I thought were irredeemable.
Thrush -- again
I've come to the conclusion that if I were a Native American they would change my name to Leaky Purple Nips. "Dances with wolves, meet Leaky purple nips." "Thanks Flying Eagle." We have thrush AGAIN. This time we're trying the Gentian Violet therapy. For anyone who doesn't know, this is some sort of anti-fungal dye, purple in color, that we're painting my nipples with. Then Lexie's supposed to nurse which applies the stuff to her mouth. At least that's what I thought. And I didn't realize that I didn't have to paint the WHOLE areola. Of course it seems like with each pregnancy I gain a whole new letter to my bra size. I'm now a DDD. This means that Lexie wound up purple from her sternum to her eyeballs.
So as a result of the Gentian Violet, Lexie looks like she's cyanotic and needs artificial respiration, when she's only blue 'cause of the GV. She used to suck on my pinky and now either she's sucked blisters on it, or I have the same damn fungal infection on my pinky. It looks kind of like an athlete's foot out break. I dipped it in the GV and now I look like I voted in Iraq. I boiled all my bras, but didn't think about separating them by color. At first they looked just subtly tie dyed -- then of course the streaks of Gentian Violet have added a whole new motif. So much for bras at $50 a pop. I was feeding her in public on Sunday and the nipple started to bleed. Great, that's all I need is for some passer by to see me looking stressed, holding a blue baby who has a smear of blood on her cheek... The cops would be followed shortly by CPS and the folks with the white coats. ARGH. I would to pump and bottle feed for a while, but she won't take a bottle.
Simon Says
Doug's been teaching Angelina how to play "Simon Says." At this age, they're all Simon Sayses; she never gets it that she's not supposed to do what we tell her if we omit the Simon says bit. So they were at the beach kicking a couple balls around. We have a bright yellow one, and one that's red and black like a lady bug. They were standing about 20 feet apart, when Angelina shouted in her best outdoor voice, "Let's play Simon Says!" Ever game, Doug said "Okay!" and started hollering back some "Simon says... Touch your head!" Angelina wanted to be Simon, and told Doug so. Doug complied and Angelina started shouting "Simon says...put your hands on your knees!" and other similar orders. After a run of these sweet little orders, Angelina suddenly shouts "Simon says... put your hands on your cock!" Of course this is at the beach, the grassy part south of the flag pole, where people can be walking by on both sides. Doug was horrified. His response? "Let's play with the balls!" By this he meant the bright yellow ball, and the red one with black dots that looks like a lady bug.
Reindeer games
Angelina has been playing the name game ... After we see 101 Dalmations, I'm Pongo, she's Perdita, Lexie gets to be one of the puppies (or all of them, I'm never quite sure). We'll play act for a little while, then switch roles -- or more likely get confused, "Oh, YOU'RE Pongo now, eh?" So with the holidays lately, of course we've been assigned various reindeer names. One day I'll be Donder, then the next day it's "No, I Donder! Her Blitzen!" pointing to her sister. I was able to keep a straight face through out all of this and go along with the program until she declared "I Comet, You Puke-it!" I think she meant Cupid...
Sisterly Love
I took both kids into our not so hot hot tub yesterday. That was fun. After we came in and stripped off our bathing suits, I let Lexie lay on a towel doing "tummy time" naked, Angelina ran around naked while I walked about naked. That lasted until I saw my post partem reflection. I went to throw on one of the several sets of sweats I had laying on the floor by my bed, and when I came out I discovered that Angelina had been very busy stuffing goldfish in Lexie's ass crack until she looked like a little stegasaurus. I got the movie camera out and interviewed Angelina about this particular endeavor. She assured me it was an offering for the monsters.
Stop me before I pump again.
Breastfeeding has always been an adventure. I readily confess to being neurotic. If I feed Lexie a bottle (of previously expressed milk), I make sure I pump to keep up my supply. This was always an issue with Angelina as I had a fairly low supply. I suspect that's 'cause of the birth control pills as this time I'm not on them and I'm fairly a gusher. Don't kill me, but Lexie started sleeping through the night at about 3 months old. I don't mean the "it's sleeping through the night if she does a 5 hour stretch" thing, I mean from 9 p,m, until 6 a.m.. Like I said, don't kill me. Last night was from 6 p.m. until 5:00 a.m.. This is, of course a bit sporadic, and we have the sleepless nights interspersed there too. Yesterday she wouldn't nap unless she was sucking on my pinky. There are offsetting issues. Of course as I write this I'm watching the sun come up and pausing to entertain Lexie in the swing while the rest of the household is snug abed. 6:00 a.m. is bloody early!
So when she started sleeping through the night, I would be awakened by the vain attempt to sleep on my stomach with bowling ball stiff engorged breasts. I'd often wake Lexie up to nurse her on one bowling ball, then pump the other, just so I could get back to sleep. It's almost like being drunk when you're that asleep. I've discovered that my pump "talks to me" As I stand there propped against the counter holding the boob suckers on, I SWEAR the pump forms words. One night it was "arapaho." I don't know if that was the Indian tribe or some jealous Southerner saying something like "I wrapped dat ho upside da haid!" Back in the day when I pumped at work I would try to mentally chant "Milk for 'Ina, Milk for Ina" while looking at pictures of her. That works when I'm lucid and lucidity doesn't happen in the middle of the night. Just the other day my pump chanted "Mind control... Mind control..." Yeah, right. Who really had control of their mind at 3:00 a.m.
Glitter pants.
A dear friend of ours gave the girls matching adorable outfits. Pink glittery tops and glittery blue jeans. They look absolutely darling, and I expect it'll just look cuter when Lexie is able to sit up and they can hang out together more. I dressed them in their little outfits for a trip to the zoo. Doug had the day off so it was great to hang out as a family. Doug decided, however, that we didn't need the double stroller, so we put Lexie in the single and Angelina walked. As I expected this meant we didn't make rapid progress in any particular direction and I suggested to Angelina that maybe Daddy should let her ride on his shoulders, and suggested to Daddy that since he didn't want to take the double, transporting Angelina was on him. Both of them were game for this and it was really cute to see this angelic little girl in her sparkly pink, fur-trimmed hoodie up on Daddy's shoulders. Of course what we DIDN'T forsee was that the glitter rubbed off and on the way home from the zoo I noticed that Doug's head, face, and neck were covered in "stripper dust." He looked like some Triple D stripper had grabbed him by the ears and boob slapped him. The next day he took Angelina to the Sportsmen's show. I neglected to tell him as he walked out the door that the shower hadn't gotten all the glitter off, so he walked around the sportsmen's show, talking all sorts of manly stuff "How much for a guided Turkey hunt, and can I shoot with my black powder gun?" all the while sparkling like tinkerbell.
Evi the Good Witch
I always greet Angelina with enthusiasm when she gets up from her nap. I tell her I missed her and we hug and cuddle a little. I noticed a bunch of white spots on her sheets and asked her what they were, were they milk? She looked a little scared but fessed up that they were. I told her it was okay, did she think I'd be angry with her? She said "No, Mommy, You're a GOOD witch!" I obviously looked confused as I asked her "GOOD witch?" She assured me "Yeah, like a princess." And when you think about it, all the good witches she's seen are beautiful, and from her, with her sweet intent, "good witch" is a high compliment indeed.
Copywrite 2006, Evelyn James
You might be a Mommy if...
You discover the source of that funky cheese smell when you examine your infant's double chins.
Your kids are so talkative that you decide if the ever were to make a screen play of your life it would be called "Mom, interrupted."
The most communication you've had with your spouse in the last week is when you both holler "INDOOR VOICE" at the same time.
You go on week-long trip and don't even bother to pack a razor... hell at home you don't shave for a lot longer than that at times.
You wash your hair when you can't remember the last time you did it... and you don't remember what a blow dryer looks like.
You think back to how long it took you to get ready for work and wonder if you'll EVER have time to primp like that again.
You find yourself interrupting phone conversations with "Don't put the applesauce in the VCR." and only realize that's funny when the person you're talking to laughs.
You decide that peeing in the shower is just good time management.
Your wardrobe decisions are often based on who saw you in it yesterday, and are you seeing them again today? Your kids, on the other hand, always look cute and coordinated.
You put those blue tablets in the toilet tanks not because you're queen of domestic hygiene, but because you want to be sure what the source for your "tea party" ISN'T.
You've been to the butcher, the baker, and a playgroup and only discover on getting home that you've had a zit on your face the size of Kansas the whole day. In your previous life (pre kids) you'd have called in sick, or slathered on so much makeup that it looked like a science project. These days who looks in the mirror?
As you all know it's been a while since I've sent out a Mommy Moments. So this is longer than usual. I know everyone's busy, but I hope you find some entertainment here.
So I've been to the ragged edge and back. It's almost impossible to communicate how crazy making it is to have an infant who wont be put down, and even when she's being held cries constantly, and a toddler simply being herself. Add to this pain from nursing with thrush, a tanker truck full of hormones and sleep deprivation. I absolutely understand how women go nuts. I had Lexie in the Bjorn -- and she was still screaming -- and poor Angelina was playing in the kitchen sink as she loves to do, I was chopping up an apple and just holding a knife in my hand was scary. I would never do anything to hurt my kids, but the potential of that knife just scared me. I really felt like I was a gnat's eyebrow from going insane at points.
It's those damn hormones. One friend of mine refused to drive on any of the bay area bridges. She always saw herself and the kids drowning trapped in a car. Another friend would compulsively open the garage door before turning on the car just in case in that split second between turning on the car and pushing the garage door opener she died of a stroke or heart attack the baby would be safe from carbon monoxide poisoning. I guess we all get a little crazy. With Angelina I could never go down stairs with her in my arms and NOT see a mental movie of us falling ass over teakettle down the stairs.
Falling in love with Angelina...
Breastfeeding hurts. No two ways about it, it just hurts at first. And add to that the antibiotics of a C section and all sorts of imbalances will occur, usually resulting in thrush, a painful infection of the breast. I explained to Angelina that we needed to go to target to buy breast pads. I told her that Mommy had boo boos on her boobies and the breast pads would help. Hours later, I was nursing Lexie in Angelina's room and she saw me wincing. Angelina ran off inexplicably, and as I was busy doing lamaze breathing for the nipple pain, I didn't pay attention until she came back with two breast pads. What an absolute sweetie. She saw I was in pain, put together what there was that she could do about it, and ran off to get me the breast pads.
A couple of days later, she saw the same expression on my face and brought me the Lansinoh which I had also explained was cream for mommy's boobie boo boos.
Just today 9/19, the thrush has definitely set in and has gotten worse. The lamaze breathing was starting to sound like the huffing and puffing of a steam engine. Angelina never holds it against Lexie that she's causing me pain. She offers to kiss the boo boo, and although it's not exactly comfortable to let her do this, I just can't say no. Today she offered "You want a schnuller?" and ran and got me one of her pacifiers and stuck it in my mouth. Her schnullies are obviously a great comfort to her, and in her two year old little world, she offered me what she would have wanted for her comfort
National Geographic
I've always said that bringing a child into this world is one of the most dignified acts one can undertake. It is, however, one that cannot be accomplished with any sense of modesty. I've been battling Thrush, a pernicious infection common in women who've had C-sections due to the huge wad of antibiotics we're given. The antibiotics throw things out of balance and allow yeast to grow unchecked. This infects the nipples, milk ducts, baby's mouth, and sometimes baby's heinie. So now I've got cream for my nipples, cream for Lexie's butt, oral nystatin for her mouth and an anti-yeast pill I'm taking. The other recommendations are that the nipples remain exposed to the air as much as possible, and that they be bathed in a mild baking soda solution periodically. I've become convinced that National Geographic should do a spread on the lactating women of suburbia. I can just see what the caption would be for some of the photographs. "The women smear their nipples with a peculiar yellow cream. Anthropologists believe it's a cosmetic form of adornment to celebrate their lactating status." Of course running around topless works fine unless, like I do, you have your most used room with three walls made of glass.
Poopscapades
We've had another episode of the poopscapades. In rare form for nap avoidance, Angelina did her usual Houdini escape from her crib and was knocking on her door wanting to be let out. This usually happens after a two to three hour nap rather than the 30 minutes it had been. I opened the door to discover my little darling dashing about her room bottomless and looking very much awake. She announced that she had made a mess, a conclusion I'd come to seconds earlier as the smell of baby poop hit my nose. Why is it that they don't merely rip off their diapers -- something that I could quite thoroughly understand -- they examine the contents. In Angelina's case, she examined the contents and wanted to show all her little friends her accomplishments. To this end she stomped several of her happy meal toys through the accumulated feces, and then stomped them all over the carpet in her room. Other little girly girls have their dolls tiptoeing through the tulips, but NO, mine has her dolls tromping through the turds! Shark boy, and "Helping Sally" are soaking in a sudsy spa right now and will need to be more thoroughly disinfected, assuming I don't send them to their poopy grave with two other toys I thought were irredeemable.
Thrush -- again
I've come to the conclusion that if I were a Native American they would change my name to Leaky Purple Nips. "Dances with wolves, meet Leaky purple nips." "Thanks Flying Eagle." We have thrush AGAIN. This time we're trying the Gentian Violet therapy. For anyone who doesn't know, this is some sort of anti-fungal dye, purple in color, that we're painting my nipples with. Then Lexie's supposed to nurse which applies the stuff to her mouth. At least that's what I thought. And I didn't realize that I didn't have to paint the WHOLE areola. Of course it seems like with each pregnancy I gain a whole new letter to my bra size. I'm now a DDD. This means that Lexie wound up purple from her sternum to her eyeballs.
So as a result of the Gentian Violet, Lexie looks like she's cyanotic and needs artificial respiration, when she's only blue 'cause of the GV. She used to suck on my pinky and now either she's sucked blisters on it, or I have the same damn fungal infection on my pinky. It looks kind of like an athlete's foot out break. I dipped it in the GV and now I look like I voted in Iraq. I boiled all my bras, but didn't think about separating them by color. At first they looked just subtly tie dyed -- then of course the streaks of Gentian Violet have added a whole new motif. So much for bras at $50 a pop. I was feeding her in public on Sunday and the nipple started to bleed. Great, that's all I need is for some passer by to see me looking stressed, holding a blue baby who has a smear of blood on her cheek... The cops would be followed shortly by CPS and the folks with the white coats. ARGH. I would to pump and bottle feed for a while, but she won't take a bottle.
Simon Says
Doug's been teaching Angelina how to play "Simon Says." At this age, they're all Simon Sayses; she never gets it that she's not supposed to do what we tell her if we omit the Simon says bit. So they were at the beach kicking a couple balls around. We have a bright yellow one, and one that's red and black like a lady bug. They were standing about 20 feet apart, when Angelina shouted in her best outdoor voice, "Let's play Simon Says!" Ever game, Doug said "Okay!" and started hollering back some "Simon says... Touch your head!" Angelina wanted to be Simon, and told Doug so. Doug complied and Angelina started shouting "Simon says...put your hands on your knees!" and other similar orders. After a run of these sweet little orders, Angelina suddenly shouts "Simon says... put your hands on your cock!" Of course this is at the beach, the grassy part south of the flag pole, where people can be walking by on both sides. Doug was horrified. His response? "Let's play with the balls!" By this he meant the bright yellow ball, and the red one with black dots that looks like a lady bug.
Reindeer games
Angelina has been playing the name game ... After we see 101 Dalmations, I'm Pongo, she's Perdita, Lexie gets to be one of the puppies (or all of them, I'm never quite sure). We'll play act for a little while, then switch roles -- or more likely get confused, "Oh, YOU'RE Pongo now, eh?" So with the holidays lately, of course we've been assigned various reindeer names. One day I'll be Donder, then the next day it's "No, I Donder! Her Blitzen!" pointing to her sister. I was able to keep a straight face through out all of this and go along with the program until she declared "I Comet, You Puke-it!" I think she meant Cupid...
Sisterly Love
I took both kids into our not so hot hot tub yesterday. That was fun. After we came in and stripped off our bathing suits, I let Lexie lay on a towel doing "tummy time" naked, Angelina ran around naked while I walked about naked. That lasted until I saw my post partem reflection. I went to throw on one of the several sets of sweats I had laying on the floor by my bed, and when I came out I discovered that Angelina had been very busy stuffing goldfish in Lexie's ass crack until she looked like a little stegasaurus. I got the movie camera out and interviewed Angelina about this particular endeavor. She assured me it was an offering for the monsters.
Stop me before I pump again.
Breastfeeding has always been an adventure. I readily confess to being neurotic. If I feed Lexie a bottle (of previously expressed milk), I make sure I pump to keep up my supply. This was always an issue with Angelina as I had a fairly low supply. I suspect that's 'cause of the birth control pills as this time I'm not on them and I'm fairly a gusher. Don't kill me, but Lexie started sleeping through the night at about 3 months old. I don't mean the "it's sleeping through the night if she does a 5 hour stretch" thing, I mean from 9 p,m, until 6 a.m.. Like I said, don't kill me. Last night was from 6 p.m. until 5:00 a.m.. This is, of course a bit sporadic, and we have the sleepless nights interspersed there too. Yesterday she wouldn't nap unless she was sucking on my pinky. There are offsetting issues. Of course as I write this I'm watching the sun come up and pausing to entertain Lexie in the swing while the rest of the household is snug abed. 6:00 a.m. is bloody early!
So when she started sleeping through the night, I would be awakened by the vain attempt to sleep on my stomach with bowling ball stiff engorged breasts. I'd often wake Lexie up to nurse her on one bowling ball, then pump the other, just so I could get back to sleep. It's almost like being drunk when you're that asleep. I've discovered that my pump "talks to me" As I stand there propped against the counter holding the boob suckers on, I SWEAR the pump forms words. One night it was "arapaho." I don't know if that was the Indian tribe or some jealous Southerner saying something like "I wrapped dat ho upside da haid!" Back in the day when I pumped at work I would try to mentally chant "Milk for 'Ina, Milk for Ina" while looking at pictures of her. That works when I'm lucid and lucidity doesn't happen in the middle of the night. Just the other day my pump chanted "Mind control... Mind control..." Yeah, right. Who really had control of their mind at 3:00 a.m.
Glitter pants.
A dear friend of ours gave the girls matching adorable outfits. Pink glittery tops and glittery blue jeans. They look absolutely darling, and I expect it'll just look cuter when Lexie is able to sit up and they can hang out together more. I dressed them in their little outfits for a trip to the zoo. Doug had the day off so it was great to hang out as a family. Doug decided, however, that we didn't need the double stroller, so we put Lexie in the single and Angelina walked. As I expected this meant we didn't make rapid progress in any particular direction and I suggested to Angelina that maybe Daddy should let her ride on his shoulders, and suggested to Daddy that since he didn't want to take the double, transporting Angelina was on him. Both of them were game for this and it was really cute to see this angelic little girl in her sparkly pink, fur-trimmed hoodie up on Daddy's shoulders. Of course what we DIDN'T forsee was that the glitter rubbed off and on the way home from the zoo I noticed that Doug's head, face, and neck were covered in "stripper dust." He looked like some Triple D stripper had grabbed him by the ears and boob slapped him. The next day he took Angelina to the Sportsmen's show. I neglected to tell him as he walked out the door that the shower hadn't gotten all the glitter off, so he walked around the sportsmen's show, talking all sorts of manly stuff "How much for a guided Turkey hunt, and can I shoot with my black powder gun?" all the while sparkling like tinkerbell.
Evi the Good Witch
I always greet Angelina with enthusiasm when she gets up from her nap. I tell her I missed her and we hug and cuddle a little. I noticed a bunch of white spots on her sheets and asked her what they were, were they milk? She looked a little scared but fessed up that they were. I told her it was okay, did she think I'd be angry with her? She said "No, Mommy, You're a GOOD witch!" I obviously looked confused as I asked her "GOOD witch?" She assured me "Yeah, like a princess." And when you think about it, all the good witches she's seen are beautiful, and from her, with her sweet intent, "good witch" is a high compliment indeed.
Copywrite 2006, Evelyn James
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